Amnesia
by Startled Boris
Summary: What happens when all the Nations have their memories wiped and are relocated to the small English island of Little Snoring-by-the-Sea? Who does what and how can they regain their memories and their lives? Rated T for innuendo, swearing, crack. Starring: Grandpa Rome, Prussia and a cast of thousands. Well, okay then, a cast of dozens.
1. The Meeting

**Title: Amnesia**

**Genre: Humour/Parody/Silliness**

**Rating: T**

**Co-authored with VengefulCat**

**Chapter 1 – The meeting**

"So, delegates," the president of the USA began his announcement when all were seated. "I'm sure you all know why we are here. We are, of course, here to discuss the problem of the Nations."

Various murmurs were heard from the crowds of people. All were of high positions in various governments across the world, though only a few were heads of state, prime ministers, or presidents. Most were deputy prime ministers, secretaries of state, chancellors or diplomats, so as not to arise too much attention from the media. Most, if not all major TV stations and newspapers across the world were completely unaware that this meeting was occurring.

This was all necessary, for the various delegates were about to discuss a great international secret that had been kept hidden for many, many years. This secret was one that, prior to this meeting, every person in this room would have defended with their life – or else. If it got out that every nation had a human personification – well, nearly human, anyway – who knew what could happen? Mass hysteria, assassination, riots, chaos, danger and the end of the world were certainly on the list. The paparazzi would never leave the Nations alone, and while some of these Nations would simply adore the attention, others certainly wouldn't.

Through the years, it had gotten increasingly difficult not to allow the secret to be divulged to the general public. The Nations themselves didn't aid their governments in protecting the secret. Some, particularly a certain ex-Nation, actively wanted people to know that they were a Nation so that all would know how strong they were. Others were just plain idiotic, and couldn't help but refer to others by their country names rather than the aliases they were currently using.

It was after certain events on a Saturday night that had got various governments wondering if their Nations were becoming more trouble than they were worth.

It is unclear exactly what happened, but we can be sure, certainly, that most of the major economic powers were present. Given the history, rivalries and other assorted problems present between the Nations, they weren't normally allowed in a confined space together without diplomats present to makes sure nothing went wrong. However, somehow, prior to a world meeting the Nations had met up in Helsinki and a disagreement had occured and World War Three had been started – and then promptly been stopped again, since the diplomat chose that moment to get back with his cup of tea and had somehow managed to call for reinforcements before having been promptly obliterated by a large Russian man.

"First of all, I would like to offer my condolences to Mr. Pushamoff's family. He was a great man and will be forever regarded as a hero for his efforts to subdue a Mr. Ivan Braginski, single-handedly I might add, and he will be missed."

Murmurs of agreement resounded through the crowd as the delegates pictured the man the president was referring to – Ivan Braginski, that is. The personification of the Russian Federation, Ivan was a large man and trying to restrain him could be likened to attempting to lift a truck; the force necessary was of a similar size.

"This great tragedy, along with the destruction of much of Helsinki's city centre, is only the most recent in a long list of government problems caused by our personified Nations. I urge all of you to support my plan to solve this problem. Ask yourselves – how long can we continue to cover up these problems? Something will eventually happen that will surely cause our Nations to be exposed to the world-" here, the French minister could be heard sniggering, "-and when that occurs we – not them – _we_ will have to deal with the consequences. Think of the amount of times your own Nation has, if you'll pardon my language, _screwed up _and you've had to deal with it."

Many of the delegates now nodded and smiled ruefully, thinking of times that their Nation had almost dropped them in it, so to speak. None were sure just what 'it' was, but all knew that they had almost landed in it at least once, and none wanted to do so.

"What if I told you all that we could get rid of the Nations and the problems they cause, and without killing them, either?" Gasps arose from the crowd. "So, here's what we'll do. With your consent and co-operation, we plan to use this new machine that some of my country's scientists have been working to perfect..." The president stood aside. The curtain behind him opened, and two middle-aged men pushed a large machine onto the stage behind him.

The machine looked much like a chair of the type you'd find in a hairdressing salon; the half-sphere suspended from the ceiling that dropped when the president pressed a button on his podium looked rather like a hairdrying implement. It looked far more sinister than anything you'd find in an average hair salon, though; there were wires attached to the top of the machine, and a keyboard and screen on the side of the machine.

"This machine has been in development since the late 1960s. We believe that we have finally perfected it. It has been proven to re-program the human brain." There were gasps at this, and many delegates looked disgusted at the very idea. "It has been proven to be able to wipe people's memories, get rid of mental illnesses, and even change a person's personality. Now, think of the Nations. Think of how, using this machine, we could make them forget who they really are – painlessly I might add – and give them new, artificial lives. It's technically legal, and wouldn't harm them at all. They won't even know it's happened..."


	2. The Day Before You Came

**Thank you for the early reviews/alerts/favourites.**

**This story is not a tie-in with Baltics Secrets/Revelations saga – its just a daft short story that came into my head a long time ago that I'm writing with my fellow fanfic writer VengefulCat (please check out her stories – she's awesome).**

Chapter 2 – The Day Before You Came

A few months later... On the Isle of Snoring, England.

"What a wonderful dream," Lily sighed, "though it was a bit odd. Someone was calling me Liechtenstein. Why would they do that, it doesn't make sense... And who was that man? I don't have a big brother." Still, the girl shrugged and got out of bed, putting her fluffy slippers on and heading downstairs. "Hello, mummy!"

"Hello dear," Elizaveta said happily as she saw her daughter come downstairs. "Your father has gone to work, he says he's got a lesson early today. Would you like an egg with your bread, darling?"

"Who'd want to have a piano lesson at eight in the morning?" Lily asked. "Oh, and yes, please." She then received a fried egg. "You know, I had an odd dream last night."

"Oh, really? That's strange, so did I," Elizaveta commented. "I was on a horse for some reason, and I think that someone may have been calling me 'sir'. There was a man with pointy teeth, too, and for some reason I didn't like him."

"That is rather odd," Lily said. "In mine, I was skipping around a big garden, filled with flowers... I think there were mountains in the distance, too, and a lake, and I heard a man calling me Liechtenstein. And then I called him big brother. And he danced with me, though I don't think he really wanted to dance."

Elizaveta thought about this. "Liechtenstein is a country in central Europe, isn't it? Have you been learning about it in Geography, or something?"

"I can't recall it, but then I don't pay much attention to Geography. I'm usually tired out from gym class; Miss Arlovskaya is absolutely terrifying. I suppose I may have heard something about Liechtenstein and then forgotten about it."

"Yes, I'm sure that's all it is." Elizaveta's phone rang. "Hello? Oh, hello darling." 'It's your father,' she mouthed at Lily. "Yes, we're alright. Your piano student did what? Oh, that's not very nice, is it... Just terrible, kids these days, eh? ...Calm down, dear, it's only a piano. You... Roderich, I don't think you can really sue over a broken piano. ...Please stop swearing, dear. Oh, I see, he stole your credit card, too. Yes, well, I suppose you'll have to go to the bank and sort it out with them, won't you? I'm sure someone will be able to disable your account, or something. Goodbye, Roderich." Elizaveta put the phone down.

"What happened?" Lily asked, worried.

"Some kid broke your father's work piano and stole his credit card. You know how he gets about his music, and let's not even mention his finances. He's probably tearing his hair out as we speak..."

In fact, Roderich Edelstein was one step away from tearing his hair out. He turned away from the broken piano, feeling like he was going to cry if he didn't do so. He left the music room, passing Miss Braginskaya, the gym teacher, who said hello to him as she passed. His phone was out of his pocket in an instant, and he had the local bank on speed dial. He was expecting the cheery young lady who normally answered the phones at this time in the morning, and sometimes later in the day too, but instead he got some random guy, who sounded rather grumpy.

"What do you want?" The man asked in a thick Swiss accent. Roderich wasn't sure he had been greeted in such a manner before, but the voice still sounded familiar.

"My name is Roderich Edelstein, my account number with you is CH34P5KA73." Roderich didn't even need to look at any piece of paper; anything to do with pin numbers, credit card numbers, account numbers, in fact, anything to do with his money, he knew off-by-heart. Roderich could tell you exactly what his phone bill was last month, down to the penny. He could do this, but he still found it difficult to drive from his house to work without getting lost. And he works two streets away from home.

"What seems to be the problem, Roderich?" The man asked. "Lost credit card?"

"Stolen credit card." Roderich corrected. "I would never lose my credit cards, or any of my money for that matter, my good sir."

"I'm sure you wouldn't," the man said in a tone that Roderich, frankly, didn't like, "what do you want me to do about it?"

"Preferably, disable the credit card until I can get it back from that blasted child..." Roderich snapped, already thinking of a murderous plan of what he would do when he caught the little boy.

"Alright... can you give me proof of your identity please, Roderich?" _Is he supposed to be calling me Roderich? _Roderich wondered. _I mean, most of the people there all call me Mr. Edelstein, yet I know them all by name, and I don't think I've ever spoken to this guy. But then again, he does seem familiar. Perhaps I've met him somewhere before?_

"I can give you all the proof you want. I can tell you right down to the penny how much money is in my savings account with your bank, everything I've bought in the past month, anything you need."

"That's all well and good, Roddy, but I'm only going to need your date of birth." The 'Roddy' barely registered as Roderich suddenly couldn't remember his birthday. Damn. Maybe he needed to make room in his brain, in amongst all of the piano and violin concertos, the money (oh, the sweet, glorious money) and the things he hated and loved to complain about loudly and at length (slow people, people who block doorways, people who cut in queues and people in general, to name a few).

"It's... er..." Roderich emptied his pockets, trying to find something to jog his memory.

"I'm waiting," the man said cheerily.

"26th October, 1976!" Roderich said triumphantly, discovering a passport in his coat that had expired eight years ago. It was a good thing that he wasn't planning on going on holiday with his wife and daughter, since he'd probably be turned away from the airport. He wasn't eighteen anymore, and didn't look it, either. _That passport was probably from my travelling days, before I met Elizaveta... _He thought. _I'd almost forgotten about all of that business. Probably just as well, really. _

"You don't sound too sure," the man said. Roderich was almost certain that this guy was teasing him now.

"I'm just having a slow day, I'm not quite awake yet, I swear," Roderich said wearily. It was true, though. He should still be at home right now, having a nice fried egg sandwich and talking to his little girl, but instead that kid's dad, that Oxenstierna fellow, had requested that his son have a piano lesson before school started, and then all this business started.

"Look, come down to the bank and we'll get this sorted out. I know what it's like when you lose money. I like money. It's why I became a banker."

"Fine." Roderich didn't bother saying goodbye, just hung up. _I swear I know him from somewhere. This is like when we first adopted Lily and she started going to nursery school, and when I saw that teacher... _Roderich shook his head to clear it of thoughts of when he'd first seen Antonio. "No, I'm not going to go there, not again," he said to himself.

"Go where?" A passing child asked.

"Never you mind!" Roderich said sternly, before striding off to find his car.

* * *

"See anything unusual, Alfred?" Officer Kirkland asked his subordinate, a rather dim-looking PC Jones.

"Nah," Alfred said, "just the same old stuff; kid on a bike, old guy asleep on a bench, nothing out of the ordinary."

"Good." Arthur answered, reaching for another donut.

"But is it? It means we've got nothing to do."

"Exactly. So I can keep eating my donuts." As if to emphasize this, Arthur bit rather savagely into a donut with sprinkles and pink icing on it.

"Can I have one?"

"Finish your burger first."

"Okay." The two officers continued to consume their lunch, the younger of the two gazing intently out of the window in the hope that a burglar would appear out of nowhere and he, Alfred Fitzgerald Jones, could apprehend him (or maybe her) and become the town hero. Meanwhile, Arthur Kirkland was paying absolutely no attention to what was going on whatsoever. He'd lived in this town and done this job long enough to know that crimes rarely happen in little, obscure British towns like this one, and when they do, it's never a dramatic bank robbery, just a few hooligans vandalising some bins, or perhaps a minor confrontation or some parking offences.

But, his attempts to explain all of this to the younger officer had failed miserably. Alfred was absolutely convinced that he was, in fact, a hero, and Arthur had given up trying to shut him up about it. He just hoped that maybe ten years or so of sitting in a parked police car on the corner with a speed monitor, a notepad full of parking tickets and some donuts would show him that being in the police force isn't all about shooting people (neither of them had a gun, anyway) arresting everyone, or mad car chases.

"He got a credit card." Alfred said, pointing out the window. Little Peter Oxenstierna (a child that Arthur loathed with a passion) was currently running down the street, laughing manically and wielding something that did, indeed, look like a credit card.

"It's 'he's got' not 'he got' you bloody Yank!" Arthur shouted. "Anyway, it looks like we've got other problems."

Arthur pointed out of his window at the shiny Citroën parked a couple of spaces away from the florist's – and on double yellow lines, no less. The car's owner, a perfumed Frenchman with fabulous hair, got out of the car and flipped said hair before setting off down the street. "It's the beautician!" Alfred pointed out. "Want me to handle this?"

"No, it's about time I stood up to that bloody frog!" Arthur got out of the car, slammed the door, and marched down the road after said 'frog'. "Oi, frog-face!"

The Frenchman turned around. "Mmhm? Oh, eet eez Officer Kirkland, _non_? 'Ow are you today, _mon cheri_? You look gorgeous today, oh yes!"

Arthur blushed. "I did start using that new conditioner you recommended... but that's not the point! You've parked on double yellows again! I must, as an officer of the law, give you a parking ticket!"

"Onhonhon, you are going to arrest me, _non_? You will 'andcuff me to you and we will become inseparable, and I will take you by surprise!"

"Er... th-that won't be necessary... er... Francis... You know what, I'll be going now, have a nice day!" Arthur ran off again, face completely scarlet at this point. Francis blew him a kiss.

"Take care of yourself, _mon ami_~!"

Arthur slid back into his patrol car, face still an alarming shade of red. "You didn't give him a parking ticket!" Alfred pointed out, rather unnecessarily.

Arthur banged his head against the steering wheel a few times before replying. "Bloody Hell, I bloody know that!"

* * *

Francis smirked as he flounced up the road towards the florist's. "Onhonhon, yet another parking ticket I got out of with my sexiness, _non_? It was a triumph!" He opened the door of the flower shop, this causing the bell to ring and a large Russian man to appear from behind the counter.

"_Da_? What do you want?"

"_Bonjour, _Ivan. One bouquet of red roses, please!" Francis reached into his pocket for his wallet.

"You want sunflowers, _da_?"

Francis raised an eyebrow. "_Non, mon ami. _Roses!"

"Sunflowers, _da_?"

"No! Roses!"

"Sunflowers,_ da_?"

"No, I need roses!"

"Kolkolkol..."

"Alright, alright, I'll buy your sunflowers."

Ivan smiled, taking a swig of his vodka before answering. "One bouquet of sunflowers, Toris!"

A young man with almost shoulder-length brown hair emerged from the office behind the counter. He looked... troubled. "Hello, Francis. Sunflowers today, hmm?"

"_Oui, _I suppose so..." Francis replied, glaring daggers at Ivan.

"How's Feliks?" Toris asked, referring to the manicurist at Francis's salon who often ordered flowers from the shop (and usually requested that Toris delivered them).

"Fine, I suppose..."

"That's good. Here you go, Francis. That'll be five pounds." Francis handed over the money. "Thanks. See you later."

Francis skipped down the road with his flowers, winking at the annoyed-looking Chinese manager of the restaurant down the road, before soon seeing a pretty girl and giving her the flowers, and ending up with a phone number in return. "Ze girls, zey love me..." Francis said dreamily, clutching the little piece of paper to his chest. "I can't even walk down the street without zis 'appening! Of course, now I'll 'ave to send Feliks to the shop to buy more flowers for our salon, but I don't zink 'e will mind..."

In fact, Feliks didn't mind. He was just considering calling Braginski's Florists' and ordering some tulips (and demanding that 'the handsome Lithuanian' deliver them) when his coworker arrived. "_Bonjour, _Feliks! Zey love me..."

"Who, like, loves you?" Feliks asked. When he got no reply, he simply sighed and continued painting his nails an absurd shade of pink. "You got a call from a Robert. I think it was Robert, anyway. Something like that."

"Robert? Onhonhon, oh yes! Zey all love me, I tell you!" Francis hung up his coat and began getting ready to start the day.

"Hmm... nah, that totally doesn't sound right... Maybe it was, like, Gilbert or something. I dunno."

"Gilbert Beilschmidt? Oh yes!"

"Yeah, him. The weird dude. Says his bro needs a new hairdo... I've got this written down somewhere." Feliks attempted to make sense of his cluttered desk, before finally finding a notepad that had a large eyeliner stain on it. "Yeah, he said he wants you to make his brother's hair, like, more awesome and stuff."

"_Quoi_?"

"That's, like, what he said."

Francis was devastated. "He does not want to _coucher avec moi ce soir_?"

"Apparently not. Hey, what've you got there? Phone number?"

"_Oui_."

"Whose?" Feliks made a mental note to gossip about this later with Feliciano, when he went into the pizzeria to get some dinner after work.

"Ah, it was a girl... 'er name was Laura, or maybe Sharon..." Francis sighed happily.

"Call her!" _This'll be pure gold, _Feliks thought. He'd caught a glimpse of the number and noticed that it had 12 rather than 11 digits. Obviously fake.

"Ah... alright." Francis grabbed the phone from Feliks's desk, dialled, frowned, and then put it back down again. "It said ze number was not recognized..."

"Bad luck, dude!" Feliks tried not to laugh, blew on his nails, and went back to what little work he actually did. Meanwhile, Francis pouted and began getting his workstation ready. It was going to be a long day...

* * *

Meanwhile, over at the pizzeria, Feliciano was having a bit of a slow day. No customers had actually come in and sat down; they had basically only popped in, got a pizza or a pasta pot, and then left again. Lovino had spent most of the day out delivering pizzas (and grumbling to himself while he did so) and this had left his younger brother with not a lot to do. So, it didn't come as much of a surprise that the manager and head chef of the pizzeria was currently taking a siesta on one of the tables in his restaurant, especially since this tends to happen every other day anyway.

A loud, manly-sounding cough alerted Feliciano to the fact that he was no longer alone in the pizzeria, and also woke him up. "Si, can I help you?" Feliciano rubbed his eyes tiredly, focused them, and then squealed in delight when he recognized the person standing in front of him. "Ludwig! Yay, you came to see me!"

Ludwig found himself being hugged around the middle, and patted Feliciano's head awkwardly before answering. "Yes, hello Feli. I had a craving for pizza and my useless _dummkopf _of a brother refused to get up off his lazy arse and come get one, so I'm taking a quick break."

Feliciano pouted. "So you're not staying?"

"No, sorry. I've got patients to attend to, so, I'd appreciate it if you got this pizza done as quickly as you can."

"Ve, alright then. What kind of pizza would you like, Luddy?"

Ludwig flinched at the 'Luddy' part. "Um, whatever the special is today, I suppose."

"Well, it's-" Ludwig put his hand over the Italian's mouth, knowing that Feliciano could go on for hours and hours (literally) about exactly what the special _was_, down to where he'd got the cheese from and an extremely detailed description of what it would taste like, and Ludwig just didn't have the time to listen to that.

"Surprise me," Ludwig said, flashing a smile at Feliciano that made him blush. Feliciano then skipped off to make his pizza, talking all the while about something that had happened earlier.

About fifteen minutes and a lot of chatting later, Feliciano exited the kitchen looking extremely proud with himself. Feliciano's older brother, Lovino, took this oppurtunity to arrive back from his most recent pizza delivery, muttering something about tomato bastards.

"Ludwig," he greeted idly, "_fratello_," he took off his hat with the rather oddly drawn pizza graphic on it and placed it on the counter, before glancing at Feliciano... and doing a double-take at what he was holding in his hands. "Oh God, please tell me that's not what I think it is..."

Ludwig looked, too. There, being held by Feliciano (whose arms were shaking from the sheer weight of the thing), was the biggest pizza Ludwig thought he had ever seen, rivaled only by that one pizza that had been in the Guinness Book of World Records the other year. It was only when Ludwig _really _looked at the pizza that he realised what it was. Atop the pizza crust, the tomato pureé, and the cheese... was a massive pile of spaghetti bolognese, complete with meatballs.

"It's a pasta pizzaaaaaaa~!" Feliciano exclaimed proudly. "You see the pastaaa, Luddy-kins? It's a pizza, but the topping is pasta? Good, no?"

"Um... sure..." Ludwig replied, not wanting to hurt the Italian's feelings. It did look rather good, actually... well, it would if the pizza and the pasta were separate rather than combined. Maybe he could just eat the pasta and pretend the pizza was a plate? Yeah, he was going to do that. "How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing! It's on the house, Luddy!" Feliciano squinted up at Ludwig.

"Are you _serious_?" Lovino interrupted. "You're not seriously giving him that monster of a thing for free, are you? Moron, I wanted to eat that pasta."

"Ah, but Luddy's just so _pretty_!"

Lovino scowled at Ludwig. "I don't care how pretty he is, damn doctor bastard is paying for the stupid pizza."

"Yes, yes I am," Ludwig said hurriedly, before handing Feliciano a twenty-pound note, despite the Italian's protests. "Keep the change," he said "I'll see you tomorrow, probably..."

"Yeah, not if I see you coming, you won't!" Lovino yelled back.

"Ve, bye-bye, Luddy!" An oblivious Feliciano just continued to wave at Ludwig whilst Lovino sulkily took the money off him before it ended up being dropped or baked into a pizza and placed it into the till, muttering to himself in Italian about annoying Spanish kindergarten teachers as he went.

* * *

"You know, I think he really loves me..." The Spanish man said dreamily around a mouthful of Margherita pizza. Who exactly he was talking to cannot be determined; there was a small girl of around three years old sitting on the floor next to him, but she was, for the most part, ignoring him in favour of smearing the walls with tomato pureé. The other children were either eating, throwing bits of pizza crust at each other, or crying; facts that went unnoticed by their 'carer'.

"I mean, sure, he insulted me... again... but I don't think he really meant it this time..." Antonio continued.

"Hehehe... wall red now..." the little girl replied.

"Yes, it is, I like red... so anyway, I think Lovi's really in love with me. Did you see how red he went when I hugged him?"

The little girl looked confused. "Dat red?" She asked, pointing at the wall. In truth, she probably wasn't actually following this conversation too well, and had in fact only understood the word 'red'.

"Yes, I suppose so," Antonio said, and then sighed. "Ah, but then he left. Poor little _tomate, _he seems troubled and unhappy."

"Sad..." The girl said, having heard that someone being unhappy meant they were sad.

"Yes, I suppose he is. But I don't want Lovi to be sad, I want him to be happy."

"Happy!" The little girl smiled up at Antonio, who smiled back and ruffled her hair.

"Yes, happy." A light went on in Antonio's head; probably the first in a while. "I should make him happy. But how do I do that?"

"Red!" The little girl pointed at the wall.

"That's all well and good, but I don't think it'll work. Hm. I'll have a think about it..." Antonio decided, before realising that there were ten irritated children currently in his care and he was supposed to be doing something about that. "Oops."

* * *

Roderich strode into the bank, an air of annoyance clinging to him has he walked. He'd forgotten where he'd parked his car (the school's car park had been full this morning, for some reason), and so he'd had to walk all the way here, had gotten lost twice, and when he'd gone past the doctor's surgery the uncouth receptionist had stuck up his middle finger at him. He was, it could certainly be said, not in the best of moods.

The guy sitting at the first of the desks was one Roderich hadn't seen in here before (but he was absolutely certain he'd seen him somewhere else) and so he soon realised that this must be the guy he'd talked to on the phone earlier. No customers were standing in front of that particular desk; there were long queues at all the others, but no one had decided to form a line in front of that one. There wasn't a sign, or anything else that said they shouldn't, so why was that? Hmm...

Roderich, however, was soon in the process of emptying his pockets to find his account book and his passport and offloaded them onto the counter without greeting the man behind it.

"That's all the proof of my identity you'll need, I think." Roderich snapped at the man without looking at him. When he did turn his head, however, he met a pair of green eyes that looked all too familiar, a mass of slightly dishevelled blonde hair, and a smirk.

"Quite," the banker answered. He began tapping on his keyboard, clicking the mouse, and watched out of the corner of his eye as Roderich sighed, yawned, frowned, and pointedly looked at his watch. "Oh dear, the database seems to be having errors."

"Well, get it fixed, then!" Roderich snarled. Honestly, he was having a very, very bad day, and felt like taking it out on somebody, and it would probably be best if that 'somebody' wasn't Elizaveta. That would likely end with him leaving their shared two-bedroom semi-detached house via the first floor window.

"Now, now, there's no need to use that tone of voice," the banker answered, just to see Roderich turn purple with rage and start screaming obscenities. "And I'll have to ask you to tone down your language, there are children present."

Roderich stopped swearing, but began breathing heavily and continued to glare at the banker in such a way that if looks were bullets, said banker would now look like Swiss cheese (no pun intended).

"Fix. It. I need my bloody money!"

"Oh, just calm down, you stupid little man!" The banker shouted before he could stop himself. "The world does not revolve around you and your damn money, you know! It'll be fixed when it's fixed. I get that you are having a bad day, I honestly do, and I suppose I feel sorry for you, but you need to stop taking life so seriously. Start smoking something, I dunno."

"I quit smoking," Roderich mumbled.

"What?"

"I quit smoking," Roderich said, a little louder this time, "two weeks ago. My wife says it's done me more harm than good."

"Listen to your wife, she sounds like she knows what she's talking about." The banker said. He then took the time to look around, and realised that most of the bankers and customers in the room were staring at them. "...You know what, Roderich, the computers in the customer service rooms upstairs are probably working. What d'you say we go up there?"

"Whatever." Roderich offered by way of reply.

Once up there, in a room painted blue with pictures of landscapes hanging on the walls and sitting in a comfy chair, Roderich suddenly felt a little more at peace. The fact that this room was most likely engineered to have this effect on the people sitting in it was overlooked. The banker, meanwhile, took a seat behind the desk and began typing again, occasionally glancing at the Austrian out of the corner of his eye. He was absolutely convinced they had met somewhere before, the question was... where? He decided to bite the bullet and ask.

"Have we met before, Roderich?" The banker asked, causing Roderich to jump a little as he had grown accustomed to the silence.

"I'm not sure. I think we might have done, but I can't think where."

"It's just that your ranting seems familiar; I feel like you've yelled at me before, in a past life or another dimension or some such place."

"Your voice is familiar," Roderich replied. _And your eyes, _he thought, but he pushed the thought from his mind.

"And I've certainly heard your name before." The banker locked eyes with Roderich over the top of his computer monitor.

Roderich was the first to look away, turning his head to glare at the wall. "Well, I don't know if I've heard _your_ name before. You haven't told me what it is."

"Zwingli. Vash Zwingli." The banker said simply, continuing to type and click until he found Roderich's account. "Ah, there we go. We're in. You're definitely who you say you are."

"Well, I could have told you that," Roderich replied sarcastically, crossing the room to look at the computer screen and seeing the picture of him in the bank's records; the same picture that was his passport photo.

"You look pretty good in that photo, Roderich," Vash said, looking over his shoulder at Roderich, who was trying his best not to blush.

It wasn't because he _liked _the banker, mind you (he absolutely loathed him, he'd just decided) it was just that it'd been a while since someone had flirted with him, (or even done anything remotely resembling flirting with him) and it made him feel pretty good about himself. Until the final part of that sentence was spoken, however. "What happened?" Vash asked.

Vash smirked again as Roderich started spluttering, gibbering, swearing and then finally composed himself when he saw that this kind of behaviour was exactly what the Swissman wanted and thus would get him nowhere. "I got old, that's what happened. I'm thirty-six now; I was eighteen when that picture was taken."

"Thirty-six isn't _that _old; if I hadn't known from your date of birth I would have thought you were older," Vash said matter-of-factly.

Roderich looked displeased by this, too. "How old are _you_?"

"Thirty-two." Vash replied smugly. "Well, I'm sure you've got somewhere to be, someone else to verbally abuse. I'll disable all purchases from the credit cards linked to this account until you tell me to re-enable them."

"Good. So we're done here?" Roderich said, not even bothering to hide the happiness in his voice.

"I guess so." Roderich grabbed his bag, fleeing the room as fast as he could. "It was nice to meet you, Roderich!" Vash shouted at the retreating figure as he ran down the hallway, and then put his feet up on the desk, laughed, and went about his day.

To be continued...

Next chapter – we meet the doctor's receptionist, the local pub landlord and a teacher's unrequited love.


	3. Suspicion

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is not owned or created by me...**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you to the following for reviewing, favouriting and alerting this story: Shrapnelgirl, Dogsrule, Chattie 98, Timisafunsucker, Irishmaid, Becky 999, Pedro-is-Madi12, ZeroLuver567, Lilypad The Fourth, Teh Awesome BeastMODE6,**

**Warnings: None... just suspend all rational belief.**

Chapter 3 - Suspicion

That afternoon:

Gilbert sat with his feet up on the desk, a fag in his mouth and looked up as yet another person interrupted his perusal of an interesting magazine. Said magazine had many pictures of unclothed ladies.

"What yer want?" he asked, rather abruptly, cigarette ash scattering everywhere and stared at the man in front of him.

The man was a common visitor to the doctors surgery and they glared at each other with common animosity. "I need to make an appointment to see Doctor Beilschmidt, please."

"Name?" Gilbert asked with a sigh, taking a pen from behind his left ear, poked said ear with it and examined the end as if the contents were deserving of a Nobel Prize. He looked the piano teacher up and down with barely disguised scorn.

Roderich, for his part, looked at the receptionist with undisguised contempt and disgust. "You know my name! I've been coming here for... for..." here Roderich tried to think. He couldn't remember. His memory was getting flakier and flakier. He couldn't remember what he did last week. How long had he lived here in this tiny town? But he felt he had known this impudent upstart of a doctor's receptionist for what felt like centuries.

"Roderich Edelstein," he said finally. Why did he feel the need to add 'Von' before Edelstein and why did the bank cashier earlier that day know him?

"Chill, 'kay? What yer want, specs? You were here last week. My bruder's busy with other patients," Gilbert said, inserting the pen into his other ear languidly and twirling it around.

Roderich cringed, "I'm having a few problems and I'm not discussing them with you," he said with as much dignity as he could muster.

At that point, a small yellow bird fluttered in and landed on Gilbert's head, smattering droppings on patients' notes.

Gilbert sucked hard on his cigarette, pulled the pen out of his right ear and looked Roderich up and down. His eyes then fixed on Roderich's crotch area. "Kesese, bruder prescribe pills for that. Give you some oomph to satisfy Lizzie," he said with a horrid leer.

"You uncouth scoundrel!" Roderich looked around at the waiting patients who all looked back. A woman with many tattoos and an equal number of bawling children laughed.

"One hour, take a seat," Gilbert said nonchalantly.

"And you had better not have booked me in for another prostrate exam," Roderich muttered, albeit a little too loudly, sitting down gingerly.

Gilbert kesesed and yelled, "Hey bruder! Get yer latex gloves out..."

"I hate you..." Roderich growled from a plastic chair.

* * *

It was opening time at the local public house. The esteemed proprietor and landlord flung open the doors of the 'Axe and the Dwarf' and yelled earsplittingly, "Duuuuude!"

His brother, Erik, proceeded to wipe glasses and brush up the remains of the fight that had taken place the night before between the florist and the doctor's receptionist.

"Great night last night!" Matthias yelled, unnecessarily really as Erik was stood just yards from him, "Specially when dude Ivan smashed that bottle of vodka over his own head and didn't fall down. I thought Kirkland and Jones were going to crap their pants when they walked in. Top night!"

"You're a fool," Erik said with a sigh. Why did he have to work here with his idiotic older brother? He adjusted the barrette in his hair. He had no idea why he wore it or why he could see the small troll-like creature that followed him around and no-one else could.

Matthias Kohler, esteemed publican, upstanding (sometimes) member of the community, grinned happily, his blond hair stuck up on end, "Hell yeah!"

* * *

Over at Little Snoring Primary School, it was games lesson.

The two games teachers - sisters who lived on Knifepoint Avenue - were teaching netball. The elder of the two was demonstrating throwing and catching whilst running. Watching her was a large appreciative audience consisting of some of her male colleagues and several local boys. She could never understand why her colleagues rushed to the windows when she taught PE. Several times she had to stop breathless as her over-large chest threatened to escape from her over-small uniform.

Her sister was being no help at all.

"Bela!" she yelled, "Can you give me a hand, I mean Miss Arlovskaya?"

"Just a minute, Katya..." came the annoyed reply. The younger sister tossed back her long platinum hair and finished off the text message she was sending to the florist, Ivan, who she had fallen for at first sight. Unfortunately, he did not return her feelings and for some reason he kept avoiding her. She suspected having herself delivered in a box of lilies, complete with her knives (of which she was very fond) and a ready-made marriage licence could be pushing her luck.

"I will love u until my dying breath or yr dying breath. U will b mine, Ivan xxxxxxxx" she finished texting.

* * *

Meanwhile, over at the florists', Toris Laurinaitis was just sitting down at his desk, kicking his feet up onto an empty trolley ("If you get mud all over my desk again I will not be very happy, _da_?" his boss, Ivan, had told him, quite ironically as he often did that very same thing, upon viewing the shoes Toris was wearing, which had been clean. Once.), and opening his morning paper.

Toris had only read the first two lines of the editorial when an ear-splitting "Toriiiiiis~!" resounded from the back of the office.

"Coming, sir!" Toris rolled up his paper and shoved it in the drawer (it had a picture of Dr. Beilschmidt along with a 'best doctor' award on the front, and something about the doctor made Ivan growl uncontrollably in the fashion of a large bear) and practically burst into the office. It was a well-known fact that you do not keep Ivan Braginski waiting.

Toris found himself in a room smelling of vodka and cigarettes. The stench would probably have made somebody less used to such a strong odour pass out, and the Lithuanian occasionally thought that he could probably get drunk just on the smell alone. Even if Ivan wasn't there, the smell lingered because the key for the window had been swallowed by a young Raivis and the window had been locked at the time.

The florist himself sat in a big leather chair that had certainly seen better days, like everything in the room. The chair used to have adjustable heights and armrests and used to recline, but somebody _might _have gotten drunk a couple of years ago and had too much fun with the controls, which had promptly broken. So now the chair was as high up as it could possibly be, making Ivan look ridiculously tall. His feet, with their big snow-boots that Ivan refused to take off even in the summer, dangled a couple of inches off the floor. Toris always had to bite the inside of his mouth when he saw that so he didn't laugh.

"What's up, boss?" Toris asked, surveying the room with a mixture of distaste and wonder. There were enough bottles of vodka to stock an off-license. The ashtray, which Toris distinctly remembered emptying two days ago (because he'd had to hold his nose to protect it from the scent, despite being a smoker himself) was now overflowing. Again. 'He's going to set his desk on fire. Again. I'm not buying him a new one if he does. That's _his _problem.' Toris thought.

"Can you get me a new phone? She got hold of my mobile number again..." Ivan's eyes panned guiltily to the blender in the corner of the room, where a crunched-up disposable mobile sat pitifully.

Toris sighed. "Are the messages _really _that bad, sir?"

Ivan nodded. "Bad."

"Yes, alright. But you have to stop blending your phones, boss. You could break that blender."

"But how am I supposed to get rid of them, Toris?" Ivan looked at his employee/friend innocently.

'As if he's not the master of destruction,' thought Toris. But he didn't say it. "Burn them?" Ivan's cigarette lighter flashed eagerly. "No, don't burn them... um, give them to me, okay?"

"_Da_, alright Toris. I will."

Toris left the room, carrying the blender with him. "I thought I heard something odd earlier. I just figured he was trying to make lunch again." Toris shuddered at the thought, then clicked his fingers. _That _was what he'd forgotten to get on his last run out. "Lunch!"

"I tried to buy something from little Yao, but he was closed... again!" Ivan called after him and then, hearing the door close, sighed and opened another bottle of vodka, while quietly contemplating the slowly wilting sunflowers on his desk.

* * *

"Sluurrrrp..." PC Jones loved his job. It would have been even better if he could have had a gun and there'd been car chases...

"Will you drink that bloody coke properly? You do realise it will rot your teeth?" Officer Kirkland told him.

"Nom nom nom..." Alfred replied, shoving the burger into his mouth. He loved working with Arthur, but honestly, sometimes he was such an old woman.

"And don't talk with your mouth full..." Arthur said. "Hang on, who's this shady character walking up here?"

Alfred shook his head, balanced the polystyrene drinks receptacle on the police car dashboard, picked out the gherkin from his Big Mac (and threw it out of the window) and ignored his colleague.

Arthur pulled on his cap, straightened his tie and opened the door. "Now then, now then... can I help you?" he said to the figure ambling down the road.

"I'm sorry? I'm just... I was..."

"I've never seen you before... or your dog," Officer Kirkland said, straightening his back so he stood slightly taller than his 5 foot 9 inches. He ignored his younger colleague's gesticulations from inside the police car.

"Erm... Officer Kirkland... don't you recognise me? I'm the Mayor... Mayor Williams, and this is my polar bear cub, Mr Kumajiro!"

"Oh yes, well... you know, you can't be too careful. I have to keep the streets safe you know. Glad to see our elected representative around... Do you have a licence for that... erm... animal?" Arthur said as the polar bear placed its front paws up on the side of the police car and Alfred obligingly gave it a piece of his burger.

"Yes, of course!" Mayor Williams said. He waved at PC Jones, "Hi Alfred! How's it going?"

"S'okay!" Alfred gave him the thumbs up, "You out tonight? I'm meeting my dudes for a drink if you want to join us?"

Mayor Williams considered this, glanced at Arthur's disapproving look and then shook his head, "I'll erm... pass this time... Gilbert, Tony and Francis are a little raucous for me... The last time was bad enough. I'm still not sure how I got home and I never found my underwear."

Arthur shuddered, "Right goodbye then, Mayor. Mind how you go," he said as the Mayor walked on, his polar bear padding behind. Arthur then flipped open his notebook, took out his pencil and made a note. You never knew when such details would be needed if and when he ever had to make a statement in court.

"Terrible grammar for an elected representative of this town. And he really shouldn't be associating himself with you and your 'doods'. Mind you, you shouldn't be going out with those imbeciles."

Alfred shrugged, he had no idea what Arthur had just said. He assumed it was something clever.

* * *

Matthew Williams walked on up the High Street, straightening his tie. He glanced in at the florists – the town's biggest problem, Ivan, was asleep. Many of the town's inhabitants could be 'problems'. However, the large Russian was certainly the most dangerous should he sober up and start to remember, Matthew thought. Keeping Ivan away from the doctor's surgery was imperative. Ensuring Officer Kirkland didn't get into too many arguments with the hairdresser was also important.

The large Russian's beige-blond head was slumped on his desk, a wilting sunflower in his hand. Matthew nodded, all fine there then. He strode on, past the local Co-Op where an argument was breaking out.

He stopped to listen and then hurried inside.

The one person on the till was a sleepy-looking brown-haired man who was slovenly dressed and was moving so slow that the queue was now threading its way around the aisles and out of the shop.

"Can't you go any faster?" someone said – just a normal townsperson, Matthew ascertained.

"I have clients to see this afternoon," a woman said.

"Hello Miss Herdervary... I mean er...Mrs Edelstein. Is there a problem?" Matthew asked.

The woman turned her bright green eyes on him, and tossed her long brown hair, "Hello Mayor," and then she stopped and said, puzzled, "Herdervary... that name..."

"Never mind," Matthew struggled to think of something to distract her. 'Shit shit shit,' he thought, "How's your lovely husband?" he asked.

She began to rant about her music teacher husband's morning ritual of playing Mozart and counting his money.

Matthew nodded and then hurried to the front of the queue.

"This is ridiculous. I have my hotel to run and you are holding me up..." the man second in the queue was saying in a strong Turkish accent. He was an imposing figure. He wore a suit but wore a small mask that partly obscured his face.

The man behind the counter ignored him, "Really?" he was saying and continued to load the shopping into carrier bags as his customer – at the head of the queue – told his tale.

"Si... and I told Lovi... I said Lovi... you are very cute... Oooooh..." the Spaniard suddenly stopped, "Herakles my amigo... I forgot my tomatoes!"

Matthew stepped in, "Don't worry Antonio... you stay there, I'll get them for you," he said hurriedly. If he moved this along, then all hell may not break loose.

It was exhausting - trying to keep some of the town's inhabitants from arguing and fighting. Their natural antagonism towards one another meant that really, they shouldn't all be living within a five mile radius of each other. In the usual universe, there would be continents or certainly bloody big barriers between them. And anything could fire them up – which could result in flashbacks.

Matthew swept people aside, picked up the tomatoes muttering as he did so, "Whose idea was this anyway... madness... sheer madness..."

* * *

It was hometime at Little Snoring School, the primary children had already left, the older children ran out of the schoolyard, fights breaking out, thumbs busy on mobile phones with shouts and laughs as children exchanged farewells.

Three children walked together, for some reason, although they were different ages, and in different classes they felt an affinity with one another.

"How was your day, Lily?" Raivis asked, pulling his school backpack on and ignoring a much bigger boy who was gesticulating at him that his Uncle Ivan who lived with, was gay and drunk. _'Try that in front of the shop, I dare you..._' he thought.

"Fine... quiet. Miss Arlovskaya kept going off in cookery class to sharpen her knives. She scares me a bit," the girl answered. "Mum says she has an manic obsessive behaviour..."

"We had PE with Miss Big Boobs," Peter chirped up.

"You shouldn't call her that, it's not nice," Raivis said, shocked. Really, Peter was his friend and all that but, he did wonder what the boy's parents were thinking. He was hardly ever in school – played truant half the time and seemed to acquire people's credit cards. The local police – Officer Kirkland in particular – was always around at the Oxenstiernas' house telling the boy's two 'Dads' that Peter had been in trouble again.

"Hahaha! See ya both later losers! I got some money to make, people to see, business to deal with!" Peter yelled, running off.

"His Dad's told him to be home for tea," Raivis explained to the wide-eyed girl next to him.

"How are you, Raivis? Is Mr... Mr..." here Lily stuttered, as everyone did who had met Ivan the florist. Everyone was afraid of the big Russian. She didn't know why, he'd always been kind to her when she'd visited the flat above the shop and helped Raivis with his French homework. But his big purple eyes creeped her out and he always smelt funny. "...Is Mr Braginski not being nice to you? Is he still shouting at you?" she asked.

"He just has bad days and good days..." Raivis shivered. Ivan never hit him, but frequently slammed about and shouted. More often than not, Raivis kept out of his way, especially when he was drunk. He had no idea why he lived with Ivan, he wasn't his father, or any relation, Ivan had adopted him and Toris years ago, but he couldn't remember when. They all shared the tiny flat above the florists and Raivis shared a room with his big brother Toris.

"Mum says he's an alcoholic," Lily said quietly. "She says he should go and see Dr Beilschmidt."

"Your mum is very clever..." Raivis said, but thought _'...and nosey.. but then I suppose she is a marriage guidance counsellor...'_ He added, out loud, "But last time Toris and I managed to get him out of the shop and into the surgery to see the doctor – you know, when we ran out of vodka and he drank all that stuff that was meant for my eye infection – that doctor's receptionist threw up blood as soon as we walked in. And then... Ivan went absolutely mad, I don't think he likes Gilbert... Dr Beilschmidt told him to calm down and tried to give him a sedative but Ivan nearly smashed the place up. It's a good job the off licence was open and Toris bought some vodka."

Lily shook her head, her phone rang – playing a Mozart symphony as the ring tone, "Oh it's Dad... I have to go," she gave Raivis and quick peck on the cheek, "Take care, Raivis and I'll see you tomorrow at school!"

Raivis nodded and watched her go. He sighed and carried on walking, very slowly. He didn't really want to go home yet, you just never knew what you would walk in on – Toris was being chatted up by Feliks the beautician the other day, or Ivan flat out on the floor covered in dead sunflowers or a customer being chased down the road by Ivan wielding a piece of plumbing because said customer had not wanted sunflowers at all in their bouquet.

He made a detour into the local library. He liked this building. It was quiet, fairly empty apart from a few old ladies and he liked the librarian.

"Hello Raivis, how are you today?"

Raivis smiled, "Hello Mr Von Bock, I'm fine!"

"Call me Eduard. It's nice to see you, you're my best customer!" the man said, pushing his glasses up his nose.

Raivis had no idea why they got on so well. It felt that they'd known each other for years and Raivis always felt comfortable with the older man. They chatted about books and Raivis' homework. However, whenever Raivis mentioned Ivan, the other man would look uncomfortable and even scared and would change the subject.

Raivis was about to tell Eduard about his English homework – an essay on a Shakespeare play – and hoped the older man, who seemed so clever could help him, when his mobile pinged a message. _'Don't come home yet, boss drunk and tearing up the bathroom, luv T'_ the message said.

Raivis sighed, he was grateful for his brother's concerns, and knew that really he should go and help him, but it was so safe and quiet in here. What could he do anyway? He was so small... A niggling thought went through his mind though. Why did Toris always call Ivan 'boss'?

* * *

Early evening at the Axe and Dwarf public house and the proprietor, Matthias Kohler was chugging a beer sat outside with his feet up on a picnic table. "Erik! Bro!"

Erik came out, wiping his hands on a tea-towel, "What?"

"Where are my customers?"

"How should I know? It's early... I suppose people will start coming in soon..."

"I blame that cafe across the street..." Matthias pointed with his beer to the establishment across the road. "He's a shady character that Hans... with his sticky-up stupid hair... and that funny pipe he smokes..."

Erik ignored the reference to the hair, how on earth anybody with vertical hair could comment on another person's hairstyle was beyond him, "You're an idiot," he said and went back inside.

The Herb Cafe had only been open about a month. It was run by a tall Dutchman with his sister and brother. They served coffee, cake and you were allowed to smoke in there. Everyone who went in came out happy and smiling broadly.

Matthias frowned, all he knew was that while people were in there drinking coffee and smoking those smelly pipes and cigarettes, they weren't in his bar drinking his beer and listening to his jokes and tales of sailing the high seas and ravishing women.

He scratched his head woefully.

"Kesese! Get those beers lined up, yer big Danish idiot!" a loud annoying voice yelled.

Matthias jumped to his feet and gave a high-five to his best pal... "Gilbert! It's a quiet night and..."

"No worries... the awesome me has arrived!" Gilbert yelled and shoved his way into the bar, nodded at Erik (who groaned, he'd once had visions of the Axe and the Dwarf being a quality establishment – these were smashed to smithereens by his brother's awful friends), "Get me a beer, girly! One man party package has arrived!"

Many of the townspeople called their local pub just 'The Axe' for short. It wasn't just out of idleness but mainly because it was usually an axe that stopped the violence.

Tonight was no exception.

* * *

It was karaoke night. Feliks was singing "I am what I am!" in a high falsetto and shoving his co-worker, Francis away from the microphone.

"Ah poo! I wanted to sing a song as well!" Francis pouted.

"Shut up, Francy-pants, you'll get a turn... after me! I'm going to sing Sex Bomb!" Gilbert said.

"Woohoo, a full bar... see this, Erik? Brilliant! All my dudes..." Matthias' eyes shone.

Erik shook his head, karaoke night never ended well.

The television in the corner crackled. In Little Snoring the only channels the local transmitter could get were children's television, a sports channel which showed football and a shopping channel.

"I've got one of those!" shouted a voice. The voice belonged to Antonio, he was slumped at a table, bemoaning the fact that he couldn't get a date with the pizza delivery boy. He pointed at the television screen which showed a maniacal grinning lady selling a cheese-grater.

Everyone ignored him.

"Woohoo! I'm here! Dudes!" another voice yelled.

"Alfie... dude man! Where's your uniform?" Matthias asked the American.

"Off-duty! Throw me a beer, man!" Alfred answered.

"Did you get a note from your mum?" Gilbert asked him.

"Mum? Arthur ain't my mum, he's just my buddy... my pardner..." Alfred pronounced 'pardner' with a swagger as if he were a cowboy.

"Honhonhon, he is very delectable non... where is your truncheon, leetle Alfred...?"

"Erm..." Alfred edged away nervously from the Frenchman, "I left it at home... I'm off duty... hey!" he exclaimed as Francis moved in closer, "Mind my takeaway... I'm dropping my fried rice, man!"

"You bought zis? Eeet is disgusting, non?"

"Yep, bought it from Yao's across the road... had sushi stuff at lunch-time from Kiku's... Yao wouldn't come to the counter though until I shouted. I think he thought I was that mad florist..."

As if on cue, the doors flung open and Toris came in, "Vodka please... a double with ice, no lemon..." he said breathlessly.

"Has the big guy run out again?" Erik asked, pouring it out.

"No, this is for me... Ivan's asleep on the sofa. All I can say is thank God for the Teletubbies!"

There was nothing to say to this.

Feliks jumped off the stage and hugged the care-worn looking Lithuanian. "I will love you, like, until my dying day!" he said dramatically.

There was a crackle and the television changed channels. There was a hush as everybody turned to the screen. Instead of teletubbies, football or a woman selling cheap jewellery, a man was sitting at a desk with a map of the world behind him whilst pictures of people fighting were broadcast. "The situation in the Middle East today. The United Nations assembly convened to propose sanctions against..." here static over-rode and the screen blurred and then righted again, "... Britain, America and France called for sanctions whilst Russia and China used their power of veto..." static again and then... "... more Nations were expected to..." The television suddenly went off.

Silence descended, everyone stared at each other. Foggy realisation, words that should mean something... of course they'd all heard of Britain, America, France, Russia, China... but why did those words and, more specifically the word Nation, give them goosebumps? The Earth for one millisecond stopped spinning.

"Nation?"

"Le France?"

"Hell yeah, America, man!"

... and then a blond-haired man came in and switched over the channel.

"£24.99 an absolute bargain for this gold-plated necklace... and over to you, Doreen with those wonderbras..." came the vacuous voice from the television as QVC broadcast around the pub.

"Oooh lala, I will sing now.. it is my turn..."

"Shut up Francis... it's my turn, the Awesome One will now sing ..."

"...and so I said to Lovi..."

"... me and Arthur arrested this kid this afternoon for riding his bike up the street and I said..."

"...Toris, we should, like, have a day out shopping – you need a make-over, sweetie..."

The conversations continued, the blond-haired man stole away, followed by a furry polar bear cub, "Mr Kimjero... it's kinda getting harder keeping it from them..."

* * *

Outside in the street, a taxi pulled up and two strangely attired men got out.

One was dark-haired with amber eyes and wore what appeared to be a toga.

The other had long blond hair, piercing blue eyes and was wearing some kind of leather tunic. Both men carried swords.

A local drunk staggered out of the pub and shook his head at them, "Bit early for Halloween, eh?"

The dark-haired man laughed, "Hahaha! I love humans... they are so funny! Right! Come on, let's go find my little grandsons!"

The blond-haired man just grunted and followed, a grim look on his face.


	4. Brilliant Disguise

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is not owned or created by me...**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you to the following for reviewing, favouriting and alerting this story: Hotel of California, DeviousDragons, Frustration, WinterLake25, JuniperGentle, icantthinkofausername, Beelzineff, PhantomPrussia, Nekolandia flippyanimegirl, Azamiblossom, Waverripple of Team Sunrise, button-pusher, Shrapnelgirl, Dogsrule, Chattie 98, Timisafunsucker, Irishmaid, Becky 999, Pedro-is-Madi12, ZeroLuver567, Lilypad The Fourth, Teh Awesome BeastMODE6,**

**Warnings: None... just suspend all rational belief.**

Chapter 4- Brilliant Disguise

The next day

Lovino rung the doorbell of the nursery, hoping and praying that somebody besides Antonio, the Spanish kindergarten teacher that constantly bothered him, would open the door and accept the pizza.

"Come in~!" Antonio said cheerily from inside the building, and Lovino shuddered a little.

"_Bastardo_," Lovino muttered to himself, "what does _he _have to be cheerful about that I don't?"

Lovino walked in, stepping gingerly over a doll's house and a discarded trainset, negotiating a path through a group of four-year-olds (one of which tugged at his trouser leg, clearly wanting attention, which Lovino wasn't about to provide. He just wanted to get in here, deliver the pizza – throwing it at Antonio's head and making a run for it if he had to – and get back out again.)

Antonio was kneeling by a colouring mat, attempting to teach a young boy how to write his name (which could have been Tom, but may just as well have been Tim; Lovino couldn't quite tell as the kid's handwriting was atrocious. He wasn't about to stick around and find out, though.)

"Lovi!" Antonio said happily, jumping up to greet the little Italian. "Long time no see!"

"The last time I saw you was yesterday, _idiota_," Lovino said grumpily. "Here's your pizza, bastard."

Antonio took the pizza, exchanging it for an assortment of coins. "_Gracias,_ Lovino! Why don't you stay a while and eat with us?"

Lovino was taken aback by this. Hadn't Antonio realized the Italian didn't like him? Most people would have given up by now, but since Lovino and his brother, Feliciano's arrival on the Isle of Snoring, Antonio had relentlessly tried (without success of any kind) to befriend (or possibly date, Lovi wasn't really sure) the South-Italian. Insults, proclaimations of hatred, toy cars being thrown at his head... all of this did nothing to cool Antonio's passion for Lovino, much to the Italian's annoyance.

"Fuck, no." Lovino replied, with a glance down at the Tom/Tim kid to check he hadn't heard all the swearing (hey, he wasn't _completely _careless, and besides he didn't want the kid's parents finding out he taught their son to swear). Thankfully, the kid had heard nothing; he was too busy drawing on himself even though there was a very large colouring mat on the floor in front of him, much to Lovino's amusement.

"Maybe some other time, then?" Antonio called to Lovino's retreating back, as Lovino took the pizza-money and made his escape past a small tea-party made up of little girls and teddy-bears and lacking actual beverages.

'When Hell freezes over, and maybe not even then...' Lovino thought, heading back to his bike.

* * *

At the other side of town there was a street. At first glance it seemed largely to consist of grimy terraced houses, parked cars, dirty, boarded-up ex-shops, and not a lot else. The smell of chimney smoke and general dirt was the main thing one would discover here, unless you went far enough down the street.

The oily tarmac road and once-white paving stones seemed to get cleaner the further you went, and even the smells changed, for at the very end of Chestnut Avenue – almost but not quite on the corner of Sycamore Boulevard, the "main" (a.k.a. only) shopping street on the Isle of Snoring, there were two restaurants, across the road from each other.

Wang's Chinese Restaurant & Take-away stood on the right-hand side of the street. Built of dark bricks and with red velvet curtains covering the window and door, with traditional Chinese décor inside, it had a welcoming look to it.

Honda's Sushi Bar stood opposite. The look of the place was very minimalist. Somebody had obviously recently re-painted the white windowpanes and door and the inside was almost obsessively clean.

Kiku Honda himself had left his two employees to keep an eye on the few customers while he stepped outside to sweep up some leaves a few minutes ago. He'd made quick work of the job and was about to step inside and repair whatever damage Yong-Soo might have caused over the past few minutes when his business rival stepped out of the restaurant opposite.

Yao Wang was a small and rather effiminate man, around thirty years old, though he had the aura and wisdom of somebody much older. While he didn't look particularly intimidating (unless he happened to be holding his wok and ladle, which seemed to change him from 'meh' to 'terrifying'), rumour had it that he held a black-belt in every martial art you've ever heard of, a few more you haven't, and one he'd made up.

Yao stepped out with a rag and began cleaning his window, glaring at Kiku all the while.

Kiku stood his ground, folding his arms. His sushi-chef's tunic, a size or two too big, crumpled a bit as he did so.

The two would've stood there, just glaring at each other, for quite some time (and continued to ignore the strange noises coming from inside Honda's as Yong-Soo did something-or-other) if the Braginski's Florists van hadn't pulled up in the middle of the road and a large Russian hadn't gotten out of said badly-parked van.

"Privet, Yao!"

The small Chinese man, ran back into his shop, slammed the door shut, locked it, bolted it, pulled down the shutters and hid behind the counter.

There was tapping on the door, metal tapping on glass.

"Yao... little Yao... can I have some spring rolls?" came the deceptively chirpy voice. How such a sweet voice could come from such a large intimidating person baffled Yao.

"Go away... I'm closed!" he yelled.

"Da! Okay... I'll come back later... and then we'll become one!" came the unnervingly chirpy voice.

Ivan wrapped his scarf around his neck and strolled down the street whistling happily. It was the second time in two days that Wang's Chinese Takeaway had been closed. But he was undeterred.

He had no idea why he liked the small delicate Chinaman so much or why he felt that he'd known 'little Yao' for centuries. Or why the scary cookery teacher at the primary school kept sending him scary texts or why he hated the German doctor and his annoying younger brother so much. He reached inside in his coat and felt for the metal faucet pipe he'd ripped out of the bathroom the night before and felt reassured as he crossed the road to avoid walking straight past the doctor's surgery.

His urge to break Dr Beilschmidt's windows was sometimes just too hard to ignore, but then the two police officers – PC Kirkland and PC Jones would come and visit. The last time they visited the florists shop, PC Jones' extremely loud voice gave him a migraine and he had an urge to punch PC Kirkland in the face.

He whistled happily to himself when he saw Toris putting buckets of sunflowers outside the shop and patted young Raivis as he left to go to school.

"Have a nice day, little one," he chirruped, "It's going to be a very nice and interesting day..."

Raivis shivered, not knowing why he felt so scared, or why Ivan's latter sentence seemed so dreadfully ominous.

* * *

Feliciano Vargas had long been contemplating hiring more staff for his pizzeria. Yes, it was nice for it to have a familial feel, since it was run by just him and his older brother, but he had come to realize that he wasn't going to manage like this for much longer.

But before he did anything rash that might make Lovi angry (and an angry Lovi is not good) he consulted the most rational person at his disposal – Dr. Beilschmidt, or "Luddy-kins" as Feli called him.

"You see, Luddy," Feliciano had dropped the 'kins' as it made Ludwig wince, "it's not enough with just me at the pizzeria and Lovi delivering the pizzas."

"_Ja,_ I understand," Ludwig said. "It is a big restaurant to manage all on your own. And you do most of the cooking as well, right?"

"_Si_~!" Feliciano said proudly.

"Well, I think you do a very good job, but-" Before Ludwig could finish his sentence, Feliciano jumped on him and wrapped his arms around his neck.

"Oh, thank-you, Luddy! You don't know how much that means, especially coming from you!"

"Me? Why?"

"Well..." Feliciano's reply was interrupted by the door swinging open. Two men walked in.

The one on the left had long, silky blond hair and startlingly blue eyes. He was wearing a costume that looked a lot like one Feliciano had once seen in a history book on a Roman guard, which would have seemed strange if Feliciano hadn't known that there was a fancy-dress festival going on in the town square. Feliciano had earlier that day served two pink rabbits accompanied by a clown (which had scared him a bit), as well as several knights, so he was well aware what was going on.

Still, the costumes looked startlingly realistic, particularly the one the other gentleman was wearing. He was wearing a toga which actually didn't look as if it was made out of bedsheets, like most 'togas' Feliciano had seen people wearing; it somehow looked genuine. The man was also wearing a hairband made out of leaves, under which Feliciano could see an unruly mop of dark brown hair and kind brown eyes.

"Can I help you, _signores_?" Feliciano asked, ready to lead them to a table.

"_Si_, I think so," the man with the dark hair said. "You see, we're new in town, and I need a job, so I was wondering if maybe you have any job vacancies."

"Oh, hm..." Feliciano faltered. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to just hire the guy without telling Lovino, but something about him made Feli not want to turn him away. He felt like he knew him, even though he didn't. "I'm not sure. You could leave your business card, _signore, _if you have one, and I'll get in touch."

"_Si_, okay." A little white card was pressed into Feliciano's hand and the two men left as quickly as they'd come in.

"That was odd." Ludwig remarked.

"Was it?"

"Well, yes, I think so. We're just sitting here talking about whether you should hire somebody and someone walks in and asks for a job."

Feliciano thought about it. "It could be fate, Ludwig." He looked to his companion and discovered the German was trying not to laugh. "Or coincidence."

"Well, either way, I have to get back to my patients." Ludwig pressed a five-pound note into Feliciano's hand. "For all the coffee," he explained to Feli's puzzled face. "Bye, Feli."

* * *

Ludwig got back to the surgery with time to spare on his break. When he looked to the reception window, however, he discovered that Gilbert was not there. There had been a twenty-minute break between appointments that morning, but it was still irresponsible of Gilbert to leave his post when he knew Ludwig and one of the dentists were out.

"What is he thinking?" Ludwig muttered under his breath. "Someone could come in and steal..." Ludwig looked around the room for something valuable enough that someone would actually consider stealing it. "...The lamp."

Someone came out of one of the doors at the back, the offices. Ludwig expected it to be his Romanian colleague, Andrei, who while slightly eccentric was quite good to work with – well, he was quieter and less crude than Gil and easier to understand than Berwald, anyway. But, weirdly Dr. Roşuvan only worked in the evenings and never seemed to leave his office during daylight hours. But, he was a good doctor, if a little over-zealous about taking blood samples.

Much to Ludwig's surprise, however, Andrei did not come out of the office. Instead the man that had been in the pizzeria, the man with the long hair that had not spoken a word, did.

He had tied up his blond hair and changed into a dentists' uniform, but it was definitely him.

"What're you doing here?" Ludwig asked.

"I work in Room 3." The man replied, as if that answered every question that had ever been asked.

"But Andrei works in Room 3."

"Andrei resigned. Now I work in Room 3." The man disappeared into his newly (and possibly unlawfully, Ludwig considered) acquired office, the door banging shut to reveal the recently changed plaque that had gone from "Dr. Roşuvan" to "Dr. Schmidt."

"How did he do all this so quickly? Who hired him? Something weird is going on here..."

* * *

Over at City Hall, Mayor Matthew Williams was yelling down the phone at the U.S. President's secretary.

"Tell him code red on the Isle of Snoring operation!"

The woman twirled the phone cord around her finger. "The snoring operation? Is that some kind of thing to help people sleep?"

"No! Just... okay, tell him code red with the Nation situation. He'll understand. Oh, and tell him to call me back."

The secretary wrote this down, making sure to put hearts over the i's. "But who _are _you?"

"I'm Canada!"

Matthew proceeded to hang up and then bang his head repeatedly against his desk. This was why he hated dealing with the President. Why couldn't the man answer his own phone instead of getting some dopey woman to do it for him?

After the fifteenth bang of Matthew's sensitive head, the phone rang. "Yes?"

"Matthew Williams? John Smith, President of the United States."

"Thank-you for calling, Mr. President."

"Talk to me, Williams. Is it true we have a code red?"

Matthew considered this. "Not quite, sir. But two of the ancients have been spotted in town and I have a bad feeling about it considering they've had close ties with most of our Nations."

"Who or what are these 'ancients', Williams?"

"The ancient nations, sir. The ones that came before me and Alfred and... you know who else. They aren't dead, no nation can die, but they're not normally... around. Sorry to be so vague, but we're not too sure what the ancients do or where they went when the Nations appeared, only that they used to keep turning up all over the place. The worst one for that was the Roman Empire, he kept singing to people..."

John Smith considered this new information. "Huh, maybe we should've wiped the memories of these 'ancients' too. Well, I trust you can handle it. You're done a good job so far, blocking the TV signals so their memories don't get triggered and whatnot. That was clever, I wouldn't have thought of it. Well, talk to ya later, Williams."

**Author's Note: Sorry for the long hiatus, had a bit of writer's block. A lot of things will start to make more sense in the next chapter...**

**Andrei Roşuvan is my human name for Romania.. but I'm sure there's others out there.**


	5. Firework

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is not owned or created by me...**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you to the following for reviewing, favouriting and alerting this story: Hotel of California, DeviousDragons, Frustration, WinterLake25, JuniperGentle, icantthinkofausername, Beelzineff, PhantomPrussia, Nekolandia flippyanimegirl, Azamiblossom, Waverripple of Team Sunrise, button-pusher, Shrapnelgirl, Dogsrule, Chattie 98, Timisafunsucker, Irishmaid, Becky 999, Pedro-is-Madi12, ZeroLuver567, Lilypad The Fourth, Teh Awesome BeastMODE6,**

**Warnings: None... just suspend all rational belief.**

Chapter 5 - Firework

Deep in the bowels of the cargo hold of Flight BA007 London to Bucharest, a tinny ringtone could be heard from inside an elaborately carved coffin within a wooden crate.

"Alo?" a voice could be heard.

Then a smattering of Romanian, roughly translated as "Yes, I'm on my way back, Igor, my faithful assistant, is the castle all ready for me? Thank you, I appreciate it... no my days of working as an orthodontist are behind me..."

The very pale young man lying in the coffin smiled, showing remarkably long sharp canines, he snapped the phone shut and then re-adjusted his earphones on his iPod and listened to his music. He was glad he was going back to the 'old country', glad he was a Nation. He'd never fitted in at the little English village, had never felt comfortable working with people and looking in people's mouths, the halitosis, the close proximity to people's throats... He'd always thought there was something missing, something not quite right. As soon as the tall, blond, strangely-dressed man had told him who he was, he'd known.

He hadn't even questioned it. And yet, what a strange thing to be told "You're not an orthodontist, you're a Nation... you're the personification of the country of Romania..."

He shook his head. There were other things the man, who called himself Germania, had said, but Romania wasn't interested. He wasn't interested in sticking around to find out what happened when his fellow Nations found out who they were. Let them sort that out... particularly the big crazy Russian... Andrei shivered; he wanted to be hundreds of miles away when all _that_ exploded. There was also Elizaveta, the relationship counsellor who worked in the office down the hall from him. He'd always disliked her, for reasons he just couldn't fathom - he knew the feeling was mutual, yet they'd barely spoken two words to each other.

* * *

The 747 bus pulled into the small lay-by that constituted the bus station on the Isle of Snoring. Several people got off, two old ladies who'd been shopping at the veritable shopping cosmopolitan of Greater Snoring (population 10,000), two teenagers skipping school, a woman with a pushchair (the child within its confines was hugging a sunflower to its chest) and a tall woman with long blond braids, wearing an old-fashioned peasant dress stepped off the bus last.

She hesitated and looked around wonderingly, as if everything was new to her. Her bright blue eyes rested on the child in the pushchair and she smiled, her face lighting up and she waved as the mother walked off.

The smile turned to a frown when a dark-haired man with curious amber eyes, dressed in an apron, approached her.

"Mama Russia!" he called and waved happily.

The woman was not happy about this, her blue eyes seemed to darken somewhat and she stepped over to him, "Roma! Shut up! Don't call me that!"

"Aaaah! Mama Russia... you love me...!" the man said, "I'm so glad you came, you can help us with our most wonderful plan!" he all but yelled.

'Mama Russia' slapped him hard across the face and hissed, "Stop calling me that. I am not _your_ Mama, and nobody is supposed to know we're here. If young Matthew or some of the others know we're here..."

Rome rubbed his face dejectedly and said in a much quieter voice, "Of course they don't... But we need your help, that's why Germania and I called you... I mean you're so pretty as well... but..."

"Stick to what you were saying and stop flirting with me, Roma," she said as they began walking.

Rome laughed happily, waving his arms around like windmills, as he began to outline the 'plan', such as it was.

Mother Russia stopped dead and turned to look at him, "... and you think this will work? Bring them all back?" she asked sceptically. She raised an eyebrow and then turned to look at the dejected figure of Roderich walking along the other side of the road.

* * *

The piano teacher was feeling more and more depressed, he kept having strange dreams of being married to a man... admittedly his wife was very man-like and always dressed in trousers, but he also dreamt of battles and blood, of mountains and lakes. He couldn't understand why the man in the bank both irritated him yet intrigued him so much or why he hated the doctor's receptionist. He also couldn't understand why the strangely dressed woman standing with that strange man who'd just started work at the pizzeria were staring at him.

He was about to cross the road to say something when the village's one and only police car pulled up and Officer Kirkland wound the window down, "Excuse me, ma'am?" he said.

Roderick was appalled, "Ma'am! How dare you!" he spluttered.

Officer Kirkland's erstwhile colleague, PC Jones, leaned out of the passenger window (he hated not being allowed to drive, but Arthur kept telling him off for doing wheel-spins), "Not you, piano dude... we're talking to the strangers in town over there..." he said, jabbing a thumb at the opposite side of the street, his American accent taking on a cowboy drawl.

"I'll deal with this, Alfred," Officer Kirkland said, and got out of the car, stepping across the road, adjusting his cap, and ensuring his policeman's badge was correctly aligned (Alfred's was often upside-down).

"Me?" Rome asked and looked the police officer up and down, "You're a little short to be wearing that uniform, _signore polizei_."

Officer Kirkland raised himself to his full five feet and nine inches, standing on his toes as he did so, "Sir? Ma'am... I don't believe I know you? And as the senior..."

"Sheriff!" Alfred called from the police car, waving a doughnut.

"Alfred! I'm not a bloody sheriff! This is not the wild west... this is not Dodge City, we are not going into the saloon to round up critters..."

"Awww man! This is no fun..."

"Excuse me one moment, while I talk to my colleague," Arthur said to the two 'strangers' and strolled back across the road. He leaned into the car window, snatched the doughnut from Alfred's hand and tapped him around the head, "How many times do I have to tell you? I do all the talking... no, you can't have a gun, no, there isn't going to be a bank robbery, there isn't going to be a gunfight at the supermarket, no, we are never going to have to taser some mad axeman..." Arthur told him confidently.

In all his years on the force, which were many – he was sure, although he couldn't actually remember them – he had only arrested three people and one of those was for littering. Nothing ever happened in this quiet little English village, nothing. Not on his watch.

Alfred looked chastened. "This job's a bummer..." he said quietly and took to fiddling with the radio instead.

Arthur turned back to the strangers... and found them gone.

* * *

The jingly jangle of 'Pop Goes the Weasel' sounded strangely ominous as the ice cream truck veered around the corner and down the High Street.

Emil sat at the wheel and considered his existence. It wasn't half bad really, far better than working as a cellar boy for his older brother, Erik, at that mad Danish idiot's pub – at least he got to eat as much ice cream as he wanted. He should really be at college, but had gotten bored with his subjects – English, Philosophy and Chemistry. The latter he only took because he thought he would learn how to brew his own beer. He'd wanted to study history, but for some unknown reason that subject, as well as Geography, was not available to him.

He sat outside Wang's Chinese restaurant. Lunch-times were slow, the kids were all still in school, but he hoped he could pick up his usual customers.

But today, the big Russian with the sweet tooth didn't turn up, nor did the small dozy Italian to tell him Italian ice cream was better than his Mr Whippy – but then feeling guilty and buying some anyway - this time a dark-haired teenage boy with a mischievous grin ran out of the back alley between Wang's Restaurant and the post office. Following him, waving a wok was Mr Wang himself.

"Come back you little..."

Emil's eyes widened as the boy stopped dead and stuck two fingers up at the Chinese man.

Nobody messed with Yao Wang, he knew more martial arts that most people had had hot dinners. Well, nobody messed with him except the big, mentally unstable Russian.

"You are an arsehole! You are a very naughty boy! And I am not paying you anymore!" Wang shouted.

Emil opened the passenger door of the truck and the boy jumped in.

"Thanks, Icy!" the boy said gratefully, "That was a close one..."

Emil smiled, all his customers and friends called him 'Ice' or 'Icy' which he quite liked, he started the engine but was stopped by his friend.

"Wait a minute... one... two..." the boy said, a hand on Emil's arm.

Wang had just reached the truck and was knocking on the window with his wok when there was a loud bang, followed by a series of cracks, fizzles, pops and streams of colour soared into the sky.

"Wow!" Emil said, gazing up.

"I know, right! I got them from little Peter... Hahaha... that'll teach him to make me peel ten tonnes of spuds!"

The sight of the fireworks exploding in his backyard certainly stopped Yao Wang from attacking the 'Mr Cold Delicious Ice Cream' truck. He ran back into the restaurant and began feverishly to ring for the Fire Brigade and, just for good measure, as they were probably doing very little else, the Police.

* * *

"Car 921!" Alfred answered the walkie-talkie.

"No, we're bloody not... we don't have a bloody number, we're the only bloody car out here, you fool. Give me that handset," Officer Kirkland attempted to snatch the radio handset from his colleague but the American held it out of arm's reach.

"Hell yeah, man!"

"You don't answer a call with 'hell yes, man'... it is Roger..."

"We're right there, man!" Alfred all but yelled into the handset, switched it off, turned to Arthur and said, "Step on the gas, man. We've got a call out to Wang's place... a bomb just went off!"

"Gasman? What are you... hey, wait a minute? A bomb? Surely, they should call out bomb disposal?" Arthur said, but started the blue lights anyway – purely because he got a little flush of excitement from them (although he would never admit it to Alfred).

"Well... kinda..."

* * *

Wang's Chinese Restaurant

"Bloody fireworks!" Officer Kirkland growled to himself and hitched up his trousers and continued to make notes in his little black notepad.

The Isle of Snoring part-time fire department had put out the small fire and were now drinking Chinese green tea. The Fire Chief, Ramon, a grumpy Cuban who incessantly chewed cigars and wore loudly patterned shirts under his uniform, shook his head at the young American police officer.

"So dudes... how'd it start? Do we have a terrorist on our hands?" Alfred asked, looking suspiciously at the watery tea handed to him by Wang - honestly, these foreigners just couldn't make coffee to save their lives.

"It was fireworks, stupid American," the fire chief answered.

"Hey! I ain't stupid!"

"Yes... your assumption, my good man, is correct," Arthur said, putting his notepad away and nodding officiously at the Fire Chief, "It was fireworks. Illegal fireworks," he paused dramatically for effect. There was none.

Ramon and his team (the part-time fire department of the Isle of Snoring consisted of Firemen Sam and Elvis as well as Berwald when he wasn't acting as town handyman and carpenter) just looked blankly at the Englishman and the Cuban shook his head, "I could have told you that!"

"Indeed my good man!" Arthur exclaimed but not really listening, his eyes shining, "It's all about deductive reasoning... and I know who's behind this..."

"Yeah man... it'll be that creepy Russian and his sunflowers!" Alfred said, taking a sip from his tea and then pulling a face.

"No, Alfred of course it's not Ivan! Use your loaf."

"Kiku-dude?" Alfred looked across the street at the Sushi bar where the owner was peering out of the window and watching with interest.

"No... not Mr Honda either..."

"I know! It was that boyfriend of yours!"

"I do not have a boyfriend!" Arthur yelled.

There was sniggering from the Fire Department as they got back in the truck.

"Officer Kirkland, you are gay?" Yao Wang asked him. "I had no idea..."

"No, I'm bloody not! I'm 100 per cent hot-blooded..."

"Yeah... Francis that gay hairdresser fancies him and Arthur goes all red..."

"Shut the bloody hell up... I do not like Francey-pants... French idiot... I bloody hate him... he's been my enemy for centuries..." Arthur exploded.

"Enemy, Officer Kirkland? Centuries?" Yao Wang looked puzzled and looked at the irate Englishman.

Arthur spluttered and tried to think why on earth he'd said what he'd said, but was interrupted by Alfred.

"Yeah, man! Let's go and arrest that terrorist!"

Arthur winced, but was brought back out of his reverie ... why did he hate that flouncy Frenchman so much? It wasn't just the way he wiggled his hips every time he saw Arthur, or the way he flirted, he just... hated him. A deep-seated hatred, with a tinge of envy and deep-down, although he'd prefer to have his hair dyed pink and his eyelashes plucked out than admit it, a subconscious lust.

"Yes, Alfred, we're going to arrest the perpetrator..."

"Woohoo!" Alfred jumped in the police car and started the sirens and set the blue light flashing.

Arthur sighed and got in beside him.

"Let's go, man!" Alfred yelled and put the car into a wheelspin and they sped off down the High Street. "Just like in Miami Vice..." Alfred said wistfully and then... "Where we goin'?"

"The primary school, Alfred. I have enough evidence now to put that little upstart away for good!"

**Author's Note:**

**Iceland's human name in this is Emil.**

**The dark-haired boy running out of Wang's Chinese Restaurant was... Hong Kong.**

**Ramon the fire chief is Cuba**

**Can anyone guess where I got the names Elvis and Sam from?**

**Please note I got these names from some fanfic stories...**

**Reviews/PMs welcome**

**Next chapter – chaos at the hairdressers, Natalya goes shopping, we meet the cosiest couple in Little Snoring, problems at the Hotel, and trouble at the florists.**

**Yes, I know there's a lot of Alfred/Arthur... but I just love those two and the idea of them as police officers made me laugh.**


	6. The Calm Before the Storm

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is not owned or created by me...**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you to the following for reviewing, favouriting and alerting this story: missnoodlechan, Petalnose, RAINBOWwORLD5678, Yami-no-Oujo, THE-complete-zelda-fan, Cathrag, Daughter of the Wise One, Hotel of California, DeviousDragons, Frustration, WinterLake25, JuniperGentle, icantthinkofausername, Beelzineff, PhantomPrussia, Nekolandia flippyanimegirl, Azamiblossom, Waverripple of Team Sunrise, button-pusher, Shrapnelgirl, Dogsrule, Chattie 98, Timisafunsucker, Irishmaid, Becky 999, Pedro-is-Madi12, ZeroLuver567, Lilypad The Fourth, Teh Awesome BeastMODE6 (if I've missed anyone please shout).**

**Warnings: Implied yaoi (don't like, don't read – simple, just don't complain) and crack.**

Chapter 6 – The Calm Before the Storm

Isle of Snoring Primary School

Lunch-time was over and assembly had started, the last few strains of 'Morning has broken' died away.

Young Peter Oxtensierna nudged his friend, Raivis and said, in a none-too-quiet voice, "Ha! It ain't morning, what a bunch of idiots!"

Raivis shushed him. He really didn't want detention again. It was difficult explaining to Ivan why he was often late. Trying to tell the big Russian that it was because Peter often got him into trouble by drawing rude pictures and passing them off as his, or even worse being caught reading a strange book entitled "How to be a successful Nation" by somebody called 'The Most Awesome Prussia'.

"Okay, children... shush now... our new head teacher would like to have a word with you all," Miss Braginskaya said, heaving her huge bosom up and straightening her hair under its hairband. She stepped off the stage, trying not to let her boobs bounce – the male teachers all leaned across with sudden interest.

But the woman who took the stage suddenly held everyone's interest.

The temperature in the room suddenly dropped, everyone shivered. The janitor, Stanley, muttered about the faulty boiler.

The woman was dressed differently to when she'd first turned up at the school in a long ethnic style dress, with braids and sunflowers. She now wore a smart suit and her hair was in an elaborate crown braid on her head. She smiled warmly and the temperature went up a little.

"Hello children, staff... I'm sure you're all wondering why I'm here. Well, I'm your new head teacher. The previous head has had to take a sudden vacation..." She paused allowing this to sink in. As it happened, the previous head, a Mr Chalk, was currently being bundled onto a bus by a tall cheery Italian and a dour blond Germanic man. He was suffering from acute alcoholic poisoning and now believed that he was Ted Bear (Grandpa Rome, to Germania's utter disbelief, could think of no better name) and going to visit his elderly sister in Vermont.

"She seems very familiar, but I don't know why..." Katya whispered to her sister.

Her sister ignored her, she was busy texting; "Ivan my love, I will find you and love you and hold you and you will be mine forever, no-one will keep us apart."

The new head, who had still not given her name, was about to continue when the double doors burst open and a uniformed police officer leapt through, ninja-style.

"Okay, everyone get your hands up in the air!" Officer Jones told them in his most authoritative voice (he was actually emulating Arthur).

Everybody just stared in silence. A small boy at the back of the hall started giggling. There was the tinny 'ping' as the cookery teacher's text was sent from her Nokia.

"This is a bust!" Officer Jones yelled, trying again, desperately. He'd watched all the episodes of Hill Street Blues, Hawaii Five-O and Starsky and Hutch, so he knew police procedures back to front.

Somebody sniggered, Katya blushed and pulled a shawl over her chest, the new head teacher - her name still unknown - stepped down from the stage and approached the American as he fumbled for his 'badge'.

"Alfred... what on earth are you doing?" she asked him.

Alfred looked her up and down, "Well Miss... er... I'm here to apprehend a dangerous criminal!" he told her and was about to add, "How did you know my name?" When his partner came dashing in, panting.

"Bloody hell, Alfred, you bloody fool!" Officer Kirkland yelled and was shushed by the new head teacher.

"Erm.. Officers... you are in a school, could you refrain from swearing in front of my children, please?" she told them in a distinct Russian accent.

"I'm sorry, Miss... er... you're not Mr Chalk!" Arthur said and turned back to his partner, "I told you to wait for me... the receptionist said we had to sign in..."

"Miss...Rodina. My name is Miss Rodina," the head teacher told them and fixed them with stern blue eyes.

"Yes, well, Miss Rodina... er... we're here to arrest somebody and..." Officer Kirkland continued, ignoring the giggling from the children, the restless tutting from the staff and his partner's frantic waving.

"Artie! We don't have to sign in! We're officers of the law!" Alfred remonstrated and then whispered in Arthur's ear, "Did you remember the donuts?"

"There he is! He's getting away!" Officer Kirkland shouted suddenly.

Peter Oxtensierna took this opportunity to slither out of the fire exit and run across the playground.

The children all stood up and chanted "Go Peter! Go Peter! Go Peter!"

One child who did not stand up and chant was little Raivis. He was at the back of the hall with Miss Arlovskaya.

"So... you will tell Ivan that I love him? That I am beautiful? That I will make a wonderful wife and mother?" She was hissing in his ear.

Little Raivis nodded hurriedly and looked around wildly for help.

Help did come, but from an unusual source.

"Come along, Miss Arlovskaya... I'm sure whatever the problem is, we can sort it out," Miss Rodina told the frantic games and cookery teacher. She led her away gently, smiling at Raivis as she did so. All around them was chaos.

Children were running up and down the hall. Someone had set off a fire extinguisher, the games mistress, Katya, was attempting to restore order – her huge boobs threatening to overspill her thin blouse. The male members of staff watched in frustration and anticipation. Someone rang the bell for the next lesson and Arthur and Alfred ran back out to their police car and sped off, sirens blaring.

* * *

"Thor, sweetie, will you _please _calm down?"

The Viking god was currently getting angrier and angrier as he looked down at his "children" from his position on a cloud. Athena, aka Ancient Greece, nimble fingers braiding his long hair and occasionally gently stroking his face, was doing nothing to soothe his anger.

"Berwald, a handyman and carpenter? Are you serious?! He should be sailing the high seas in his longboat, the mighty Sverige once again... not building kitchens and fixing things for that German! It's so undignified!"

"Well, um..."

"And look at Mathias! He's bloody drunk... alright that's nothing new... but Iceland, selling ice-cream for a living. It's not right. The American government will pay for what they've reduced them all to. The mighty Nordic countries, once Kings of Northern Europe, and they're bloody pub landlords and bartenders and ice-cream sellers and ... DIY? And... what is it Tino does?"

"He's a housewife, darling."

"A _HOUSEWIFE_!" Thor's Viking helmet started to glow red, the way it did only when he was feeling true fury, and he zeroed in on the little terraced house on Sycamore Avenue where Tino was swaying around his kitchen, humming to some chart hit playing on the radio, and stirring a pot of soup. "You're telling me that my nephew, the same man who kicked Russia out so many times and held his own against the Germans in WWII, is now poncing about in fluffy slippers and an apron?!"

"Anyone want scones?" the dreaded voice cut through Thor's anger and Ancient Greece almost fell off the cloud.

"Britannia!" Athena groaned.

* * *

The sky darkened ominously, though it was noon, and two flashes of bright blue lightning pierced the sky. This was succeeded by a rumble of thunder that could be heard for miles around, and Tino squeaked and dropped his soup ladle in surprise at the sound. Only static could now be heard on his radio, rain poured down, ricocheting off the roof and drainpipe, and Tino hoped feverently that Peter wasn't currently playing outside.

The door burst open and Peter charged in.

"Mom!" he yelled.

Tino winced at this.

"Yer gotta hide me! If the fuzz calls, tell them I was never here! Tell them I moved to Peru."

"What? Where? Why? Peter!" Tino spun around as the young boy threw himself up the stairs two at a time and slammed his bedroom door.

"That boy..." he muttered. Peter had been nothing but trouble since he and Berwald had adopted him so many years before. Although Tino couldn't really remember when or how they'd adopted him. They loved him, loved being a little family, but the child was always playing truant or dealing in stolen fireworks and selling them to that Asian teenager who worked for Mr Wang or borrowing credit cards and trying to get into the local pub and buy beer. Tino always worried that the big Dane who ran the Axe and Dwarf would one day just sell it to him and Berwald would go round there and... Tino didn't want to think about that. For some reason, the landlord of the Axe and Dwarf was very familiar, as was the Norwegian barman who worked there. And for some other unknown reason, although Berwald and Mathias or 'Dude Den' as he called himself, had barely exchanged more than a dozen words – Berwald seemed irritated by the Dane's very presence in the town.

Tino's ruminations were interrupted by a banging on the door and a loud shout of "Open up, this is the Police!"

Tino wiped his hands and went to the door, opening it wide to find two rather wet officers of the law stood on his doorstep.

"Hello Officer Kirkland, hello Officer Jones..." he said wearily.

"We've come to arrest the kid!" Officer Jones said and swaggered in, shaking rainwater all over Tino's immaculate hallway.

"Alfred! This is not an American police drama, how many times do I have to tell you?"

"Awww man!" Alfred shook his head dejectedly.

"I'm sorry, but Peter's not here... he's in... Paris!" Tino said finally.

"Peru, Mom! Peru!" Came a voice from upstairs.

"Paris... isn't that where your boyfriend comes from?" Alfred asked Arthur.

Arthur took out his truncheon and seriously considered battering Alfred with it – as he often thought of doing several times a day and then hissed, "He's not my bloody boyfriend!"

"You're always letting him get away with stuff, Artie! And he keeps gazing at you and calling you his little cherry or something..."

"Cherie... it is French for dear..."

"See...!"

"Oh bloody hell!"

Tino smiled to himself as he watched the two police officers argue, and Peter slid down the banister and out of the back kitchen door.

"You're like a married couple!" he said, and then added, "You remind me of when Berwald and I got together!"

Kirkland and Jones (or Jones and Kirkland as Alfred preferred to call them – in his head they were a crime-fighting team) jumped apart quickly.

But their quarry was already hopping over the hedge and away onto Chestnut Avenue and freedom.

"Idiot!" Officer Kirkland said and tapped Alfred smartly on the head with his truncheon. "Get in the bloody car and call for back-up!"

* * *

In the primary school headteacher's office, a few telephone calls were being made. Order had been restored, temporarily, children were back in their classrooms, again temporarily, teachers were teaching.

"Hello, Mr Sadiq? You own the Hotel Majestic? Yes, yes, I know it's five stars... I wish to book a wedding reception. How soon can you do that?"

'Miss Rodina' looked up at the only other person in the room, the beautiful games and cookery teacher - who looked back, a hopeful but maniacal gleam in her eyes.

"Tomorrow? Really? You're not busy? Okay okay... I understand... tourist season... I wasn't being funny... really? Food poisoning? Oh dear... perhaps if we get an outside caterer in? What about Mr Wang?"

Miss Arlovskaya was shaking her head vigorously at this and a knife suddenly appeared in her hand.

"...Or perhaps not... Okay Mr Sadiq, we'll use your chef... I suppose there's always the Vargas brothers..."

Miss Arlovskaya smiled at this.

"Yes, that's fine... thank you... oh who's the happy couple? You'll find out tomorrow... _Do svidaniya_!"

"But ... Miss Rodina... how are we going to do this? I mean Ivan won't answer my calls... he must know we're meant to be together forever... but..."

"Now now, Bela my dear..."

"How did you know my name was Bela? Only my sister calls me that!"

"Er well... somebody told me..." the headteacher took hold of the younger woman's arm and gently led her outside, "Now don't you worry, you leave everything to me," she said and promptly closed the door.

* * *

Meanwhile at the pizzeria

"Ah si... you have to putta the cheese on lika this..." the older man sprinkled the cheese on the tomato base pizza and shoved it into the oven. "You youngsters! You do things so very fast these days!"

Feliciano's eyes were wide, "I never knew that I could learn so much!" he said wonderingly.

"Whatever!" Lovino was less impressed and glared at the older man. He had no idea why they had to employ this 'know it all' as he called him. The guy, who for some reason both decided to nickname 'Grandpa', had taken over – started telling Feliciano how to cook pasta, telling Lovino he priced the food too low. Telling them that they should give discounts to the ladies... and so it went on.

"Ah! I have a text! I love these mobile telephones! They are wonderful... if only they had them when I was conquering... I mean travelling around Europe... it would have been so much easier than sending a messenger to the Imperial Senate to say I had taken Constantinople! And then of course..."

"Your phone's ringing, stupido!" Lovino said angrily. Who was this idiot anyway? This was worse than when that German doctor came in telling Feliciano how to do the accounts while his idiot brother gazed dreamily into his eyes.

"Ah! Si... Ciao... Rodina! I know you love me... you have missed me? No? Ah Mama Russia!" The tall Italian then shut up and listened intently, "Si... si... it is working then? Germania said that it would. Something about the weakest link or a domino effect..." He said after a long pause and then hung up. He turned to the two wide-eyed Italians, "So my little ones... we have a wedding to cater for! I told you I would bring in business!"

"A wedding? Who's getting married?" Feliciano asked, his mind was whirring. There were several possibilities in the village and he sighed romantically.

Grandpa Rome waved his arms around, almost knocking an already grumpy Lovino out, "It's a secret... you wait... it will be wonderful!"

"... or a bloodbath..." Lovino grumbled – with startling insight.

Grandpa Rome grabbed them both in a bear-hug. "After tomorrow everything will be alright... you will all be happy again!"

"I'm already happy," Feliciano muttered, thinking of his little pizzeria and his tentative relationship with 'Luddy-kins'.

"So you're going to get tomato bastard off my back?" Lovino asked but was promptly ignored.

* * *

Over at the florists shop, there was more hugging going on.

"Toriiiiiis!"

"Sir? I mean, Ivan?"

"I've just had a call..."

"And?"

"And what?"

"You said you had a call, Sir?"

"Da!"

"Well?"

"A lady wanted a huge order of sunflowers for tomorrow!"

"That's wonderful... we need a big order and..."

Toris was picked up in Ivan's huge arms and swung around, his legs dangling.

"Sir... you're squeezing me... can't breathe!"

"Da! Such a big order... lots and lots of sunflowers! I will ring my supplier... they always supply on time to me... or Mr Pipe and I will visit them..."

"Sir... can't..."

"Oh sorry Toris..." Ivan let the Lithuanian fall to the ground and happily picked up the phone. "This means, Toris, that I can afford more vodka and I can pay you more wages and I can let little Raivis go on that school trip and..."

"... and the shop won't close and we can pay the rent..."

"Da!" Ivan's eyes gleamed, "Six dozen sunflowers and roses to the Hotel Majestic for tomorrow..."

"Hotel Majestic? Mr Sadiq's place?"

"Da..."

"Why?"

"A wedding, Toris! Somebody is getting married tomorrow!"

"Who?" Toris asked. It was such a small town that surely they would have known.

"They did not say... But we are invited as the official florists!"

"Hmmm..." Toris said, still hugging his sides from Ivan's enthusiastic hug.

"Weddings are wonderful things, Toris..." Ivan said as he dialled the number for the supplier. "They bring people together..."

"In this town, that's not always a good thing..." Toris mumbled.

Toris was right. In Little Snoring, bringing the residents together was never a good thing.

**Author's Notes:**

**Yes, I know we have a lot of Arthur/Alfred – but they make such a fab couple...**

**Miss Rodina – anyone have any idea why I picked this name?**

**Again, sorry for the hiatus, been working on another story at the same as this. I'm on holiday for a few weeks now so updates should be more rapid. PM, message, review, all suggestions gratefully received. Take care all.**

**Next Chapter – Bela goes shopping, more Jones and Kirkland (or Kirkland and Jones... just cos I like them), and what happens when Nations go AWOL.**


	7. Shopping Spree

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is not owned or created by me...**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you to the following for reviewing, favouriting and alerting this story: missnoodlechan, Petalnose, RAINBOWwORLD5678, Yami-no-Oujo, THE-complete-zelda-fan, Cathrag, Daughter of the Wise One, Hotel of California, DeviousDragons, Frustration, WinterLake25, JuniperGentle, icantthinkofausername, Beelzineff, PhantomPrussia, Nekolandia flippyanimegirl, Azamiblossom, Waverripple of Team Sunrise, button-pusher, Shrapnelgirl, Dogsrule, Chattie 98, Timisafunsucker, Irishmaid, Becky 999, Pedro-is-Madi12, ZeroLuver567, Lilypad The Fourth, Teh Awesome BeastMODE6 (if I've missed anyone please shout).**

**Warnings: Crack**

Chapter 7 –Shopping Spree

"White or cream... white or cream... Which do you think, Katya?" the speaker was Natalya and she held up a variety of different wedding dresses – all resembling very large meringues.

"Cream... definitely... Are you sure about this? I mean has Ivan actually said...?" her sister didn't finish the sentence when Natalya turned to her with blazing eyes.

"Why shouldn't he marry me? I am beautiful and I can cook and I will look after him and..." Natalya flounced around the shop in a huge dress – which could easily have hidden half of her class within its skirts.

"And it's tomorrow? At the Majestic? Seems a bit fast..." Katya said with much concern. Perhaps she should put a call through to Elizaveta for some advice, after all, the Hungarian was a counsellor. Or perhaps she should call the doctor and get some more of those anti-psychotic drugs.

"And why shouldn't it be fast? For love such as ours?" Natalya asked and pulled out a knife, running a finger along its edge.

"Erm... no reason, I'm sure..." Katya said hurriedly and winced as her sister held up a dreadful puce-coloured frilly monstrosity of a dress.

"This can be your bridesmaid dress, Katya dear!" Natalya informed her.

"Well... er... thank you... I think."

* * *

In 'downtown' Little Snoring, the police car cruised up and down the streets.

"Now... where is the little tyke?" Officer Kirkland ruminated, partly to himself and partly to his partner.

"What's a tyke, Artie?" Alfred asked, his foot on the accelerator, he was dying to go faster, but the speed limit was 20 miles per hour and, unless they had their blue lights on, they couldn't break the speed limit. Once they did – but that was because they'd ordered a takeaway and Alfred was panicking that it would be cold.

"It's an English word for a brat, Alfred... keep driving... turn left."

"Right..."

"No, left."

"Right..."

"Left!"

"You don't have to shout, Artie... Is this Acacia Avenue?"

"Yes... there he is! Alfred turn the car around... Stop!" Arthur shouted and then before Alfred had put on the handbrake, he was out of the car and ran after the small boy who disappeared over a garden wall and into someone's back garden.

Arthur thought he was fit, he regularly did push-ups at the gym and did 'power-walking', but he wasn't – as Alfred frequently told him. He got to the garden wall and attempted to jump over it and failed – several times.

"Alfred! Over here... give me a leg up!" Arthur yelled.

Alfred parked the car, waved at a housewife who was watching him from behind lacy net curtains and ran across.

"Dude?"

"Give me a leg up and then you go round the other side, then we have him!"

Alfred nodded and picked Arthur up and threw him over the wall.

"Aaargh! I said a leg up, not bloody throw me over, you bloody wanker!" Arthur yelled and then apologised profusely as the home-owner – a large woman in an apron opened her front door and glared at him.

"I'm so sorry madam... we are in the process of apprehending a criminal who is on your property," he said sheepishly while brushing mud off his trousers.

Alfred had already ran off and was vaulting over the garden fence of the next door property and sidling down the property wall overlooking the gardens and the fields that ran along the back.

PC Jones was quite proud of his fitness – he could bench-press far more than Artie and had once towed Arthur's clapped out Ford Fiesta to the local garage so the Englishman didn't have to call out the breakdown services. He now vaulted another wall and landed in a ditch on the other side and jogged through the field after the boy.

"You can't catch me!" Peter yelled. Actually, he thought, they could. The American cop was much faster and fitter than PC Jerkface. He ran into the field and could see that the 'Yank' was catching up with him. He panicked and looked around him.

"I can't do 'time'," he thought, "Can't face jail..." He spotted a tall metal structure – much like a very large climbing frame which had a notice on it 'Danger – Keep Off' in red letters.

He turned to see the American closing on him and 'PC Jerkface' also approaching – the latter policeman puffing and panting a little. There was only one thing to do – he began to climb.

"Why didn't you catch him?" Arthur asked Alfred, punching him on the arm as he did so.

"I tried! Shall I climb up after him? You know like Bruce Willis in that film? What would Batman do?" Alfred leaned against one of the metal poles.

"This isn't a bloody film! And no, you can't climb up – it's against health and safety. He'll come down soon enough," Arthur said.

"Yeah but... he might get electricitified!"

"What kind of bloody word is that? Of course he won't! It's a mobile phone mast... I think..."

"Better call the fire department and his parents..." Alfred yelled excitedly.

* * *

As it happened, it wasn't the mobile phone mast – it was the television transmitter.

The Mayor, Matthew Williams, arrived with the fire department and looked very worried.

He called up to Peter, who was now perched on the top of the mast, "You should come down now, before you hurt yourself..." and then added, under his breath, "... or break the transmitter... oh dear Lord..."

He smiled wanly at Tino, who was in tears, his hands clasped in front of him, and then at Berwald who stood a little to one side with a grim look on his face. Then, Matthew hurried off to make a telephone call.

"Hello? Code red... yes I know I've already used a code red... okay then... code violet or whatever... the highest code... we may have an emergency... if that boy breaks that transmitter then we are in serious trouble..." Matthew said into his cell-phone, pacing up and down, his polar bear cub following him.

He listened for a while, absent-mindedly feeding 'Mr Kumajiro' doggie treats, as the person on the end of the line gave him instructions.

"So you're saying it's unbreakable and that it will be okay? That there's no way a little kid could damage it? Phew that's a rel..." he didn't get to finish as he watched in utter horror as PC Alfred F Jones threw off his jacket, handed his police helmet to his partner and began to climb.

"I'm the hero! I'll save the day! Everyone step back!" Alfred yelled – totally ignoring the fact that everybody had already stepped back. The Little Snoring Fire Department had set up a safety net for Peter should he fall and were now drinking cups of tea.

"Noooo, don't climb the tower – you'll break it!" Matthew shouted.

Too late, Alfred, with the ease of something like a chimp, Arthur thought, but in the American's head like a superhero, reached the boy, grabbed him around the waist and his foot slipped.

There was an audible gasp from the ground.

"S'okay dudes!" Alfred yelled, his hand reached out and grabbed a stray cable, he regained his footing, his hand grasped a cable and, with a yell of "Germoline!" he jumped, or swung, holding Peter tightly in his arms.

There was a commotion and everyone said "Aaaah!" at the same time.

The firefighters caught the two in the safety net, Tino ran forward and gathered Peter in his arms, Arthur ran forward and tapped Alfred smartly on the head with his truncheon.

"Bloody fool! It's Geronimo! And besides you could have been bloody killed!" Arthur said and then almost cried with relief.

Alfred grinned and held up the cable on which he'd swung – quite epically he thought, "I know, but thanks to this, I didn't!" he said.

"Oooh no..." Matthew wailed as the cable fell to the ground. He immediately started to dial a number as around him Alfred posed for pictures for the local newspaper, Peter was arrested by Arthur and the Fire Chief grumpily began to put away the safety equipment.

"Hello... code red... code red... the transmitter's down... this is bad really bad..." he said into his phone, his voice sounding more and more desperate.

* * *

The Axe and Dwarf Public House, Proprietor: Matthias Kohler

An old man in a corner of the bar was the first to notice that something was different. "What happened to the football?" he asked suddenly and pointed at the television.

Matthias actually put down his beer and started to press all the buttons on the remote control. "Hmm... no QVC... no CBeebies..." he muttered.

The television showed just static and then somebody – no-one would later recall who it was – twiddled the knob, and a picture suddenly appeared.

The news was being broadcast and showed fighting, soldiers and guns, a very grim and serious-looking newsreader told them that 'Severe fighting had broken out in the Middle East, diplomats are attempting to resume talks with all sides but the situation worsens with each day...'

"Do you think it will affect my beer?" Matthias asked Erik.

The Norwegian didn't answer but stared at the television screen as the newsreader mentioned NATO and the United Nations and then that Russia and America were 'taking opposing sides'.

Memories nudged at the young Norwegian, he frowned and shook the Dane's hand away from his arm and hurried out of the pub.

* * *

"I said we couldn't rely on a dampener... that sooner or later they'll pick up BBC News and ... oh no... CNN..." Matthew practically shouted down the cell-phone as he hurtled down Chestnut Avenue, swerved around a corner and into the High Street. He parked his car and looked around, "I told them I didn't want to do this... I'm not equipped to look after this lot..." He said wearily to no-one.

"Who are you?" his polar bear asked.

"The Mayor of Little Snoring... otherwise known as the Nation of Canada... and I failed..." he said and promptly banged his head on the steering wheel – setting off the car-horn as he did so.

* * *

Climbing the steps of the Hotel Majestic, Natalya and her sister huffed and puffed – carrying one huge wedding dress and one equally huge bridesmaid dress, together with assorted shoes, veils and other accessories – they finally staggered into the reception area.

"Is this a good idea? I mean... who's paying for all this?" Katya asked. "We can't afford it on our teachers' pay..."

"A kind benefactor," Natalya told her. Honestly, anyone would have thought her sister didn't believe that tomorrow was going to be the happiest, best day in the history of weddings.

"Hmmm," Katya mumbled.

The tall Turkish man behind the counter looked them up and down, "Can I help you, ladies?" he asked.

"Mr Sadiq, we're booked in for the wedding tomorrow," Natalya told him imperiously.

Katya was about to protest but was amazed when Sadiq looked at the register and said with some amazement, "Oh yes... all paid for, the lady rang earlier."

He then said the words that Natalya had wanted to hear for a long time, "You're booked in the honeymoon suite."

"Oooooh Katya! Did you hear that?" she cried, turning to her sister.

Katya nodded. "That doesn't mean you're married... yet," she said pensively, but very quietly.

Natalya wasn't listening but had given her wedding dress to the grumpy Bulgarian bellhop and told the unsmiling man to take it to her room and that if he stood on it, tore it or otherwise damaged it in any way, he would get a knife in his gullet.

He looked her up and down and silently boarded the elevator, his arms full of boxes, bags and frilly gowns.

"This is going to be the most amazing wedding ever! Everyone will be talking about this for years to come!" Natalya exclaimed, clapping her hands together excitedly.

And she was right – they would.

Behind the reception, the television switched from QVC to the BBC News and a newsreader's voice cut through the frivolities. "The United Nation Security Council meeting broke up today without resolution to the growing conflict in the Middle East. The United States and Great Britain refuse to concede whilst Russia and China are vetoing the vote for military action, France abstained..."

"Ha! France never abstains from anything!" Katya cried and clamped a hand over her mouth and wondered why on earth she said that.

"Big brother Russia?" Natalya muttered and then shook away a disturbing thought and instead flounced into the function room and began ordering Sadiq's hapless staff about balloons, flowers, tablecloths and streamers.

"...And Katya, dearest sister?"

Katya smiled with trepidation as her younger sister picked out the most garishly pink tablecloths ever seen in the history of linen, "Yes, my little gosling?"

"As my chief bridesmaid, you can organise my hen night!"

**Author's Notes:**

**CBBC – Children's BBC – a public service broadcasting channel which broadcasts children's programmes.**

**"Geronimo" – the name of a famous American-Indian chief, often a call cried out by people taking a leap. As usual America/Alfred gets it wrong.**

**Next Chapters – a hen night, more revelations, silliness, an unusual car chase...**


	8. Doomsday

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is not owned or created by me...**

**Acknowledgemenst: Thank you to the following for reviewing, favouriting and alerting this story: EchoTasteLightZim, jinxcat99, EJM513, Blanckary, Herr Benzadrine (great user name by the way), MarauderMoony21, missnoodlechan, Petalnose, RAINBOWwORLD5678, Yami-no-Oujo, THE-complete-zelda-fan, Cathrag, Daughter of the Wise One, Hotel of California, DeviousDragons, Frustration, WinterLake25, JuniperGentle, icantthinkofausername, Beelzineff, PhantomPrussia, Nekolandia flippyanimegirl, Azamiblossom, Waverripple of Team Sunrise, button-pusher, Shrapnelgirl, Dogsrule, Chattie 98, Timisafunsucker, Irishmaid, Becky 999, Pedro-is-Madi12, ZeroLuver567, Lilypad The Fourth, Teh Awesome BeastMODE6 (if I've missed anyone please shout).**

**Apologies for the lateness of this chapter, been busy, had a bit of writer's block and then hung onto this chapter, editing and re-editing...**

**Warnings: Crack**

Chapter 8 - Doomsday

Oval Office, The White House, Washington DC

The President of the United States, the most powerful man in the world was sat at his desk working late. A sheaf of papers in front of him – problems ranging from the economy to health care to immigration to the looming war in the Middle East.

He sighed and rubbed his tired eyes and was about to reach for his cup of coffee when he remembered he'd sent his secretary out to bring a fresh cup. But that was over half an hour ago. The President glanced at his watch and frowned. He was about to pick up the phone and dial through to the outer office when there was a crash and shouts of alarm from outside.

The heavy wooden door was suddenly hit by something large and bulged inwards – the wood splintering. The head of an axe appeared in the hole.

The President jumped to his feet. Although not a coward, he was afraid for his safety, and that of his family and his staff.

He pressed the red alarm button hurriedly and looked around for a weapon of any kind. The only thing that caught his eye was an elaborate letter-opener with the Presidential seal on it. He clutched it desperately. Whatever was going to come through that door – be they assassins or terrorists - he would fight.

What actually fell through the door – and fall was really the only way to describe the way the four individuals entered the room – did not look like any kind of terrorist or assassin he could ever imagine.

One was a large man with blond braids dressed like a Viking, the other three were all women – one dressed in a white silk robe, her dark hair in a braid around her head and she looked around the office as if they were on a day trip. The other two women were arguing as they fell to the floor.

"Marianne! You bloody tart! You ripped my gown!" a tall woman with auburn hair and startling green eyes shouted at the woman who had fallen on top of her.

"Ah... Britannia... my one and only..." the other woman said, in an outrageous French accent, and pulled herself upright. She wore a simple white dress that seemed to mould to her curves, her vivacious blue eyes sparkled as she took in the President's open-mouthed gaze.

"Who are you? Is there some kind of party going on? Are you in fancy dress?" The President finally found his voice and tried to make it sound authoritative.

The French woman, Marianne, sidled up to the President and smiled, tossing her blond hair back. A smell of Chanel wafted from her.

"Leave him alone you French tart! You've already de-bagged a bunch of secret servicemen! Have you no shame?" the woman who was called Britannia said, and pulled the Frenchwoman back.

The large Viking took charge and embedded his axe in the President's beautifully polished desk.

"That desk belonged to President Johnson!" the President said, utterly appalled.

The dark-haired woman with the white robe, gently placed a hand on the Viking's arm, "Thor, sweetie..." she began to say in a thick Greek accent.

"I know Hellene, but we have to get his attention somehow!" the Viking thundered.

"Listen... if you're looking for the staff party I think it's over in the..." the President began to say, eyeing the axe nervously. He batted away the French woman's wandering hands and kept pressing the red alarm button frantically.

"Ze leetle button is not going work, ah oui! Monsieur Le Presidente... your lovely men in black have been dealt with by us..."

The President looked worried at this. They were talking about his elite Special Services bodyguard. Who were these people, who could disable the best trained bodyguards in the world?

"But... how...?"

"Scones! The most devastating weapon known to man!" Ancient Greece told him.

"... and l'amor!" Marianne told him with a lascivious grin.

Britannia harrumphed about this.

Actually what had happened was this: the Ancients – Thor, Marianne, Britannia and Hellene (the ancient personifications of Norway, France, Britain and Ancient Greece respectively) had slammed their way into the White House, disabled several secret service agents with scones; Marianne had trapped three in a closet and molested them; Thor had slammed two heads together and Hellene, with consummate grace, had just stepped over the bodies.

Thor shoved the startled President back into his chair, took the letter-opener from him, handed it to Britannia and began to talk, leaning rather too closely to the poor American leader as he did so. (The President was thinking to himself 'I bet this never happened to George Washington' –he was wrong – it had.)

"Our kids down there in Little Snoring need our help..." Thor began, his beery breath nearly knocking the American out.

"Your... kids?"

"Ja, at the moment we've sent Rodina, Roma and Germania in, but unless we see some results we'll send in the big guy," Thor continued.

"Rodina, Roma and Germania?" The President repeated, looking completely baffled. Perhaps they were on drugs?

"Nobody wants _him _involved," Britannia said with a shudder.

"The problem you have with this War..." Thor said, jabbing the American in the chest.

The President flinched back "War? It's not a war... yet..." he began to say.

"Don't interrupt!" Britannia told him, "You youngsters, you always think you know best..."

"It will be a war unless our kids sort it out... this is what happens when Nations are on holiday..." Hellene told him.

The President's eyes widened, "Nations! Alfred! You're..."

"Yes... yes we are," Britannia said with a serious look.

Marianne attempted to straddle the President's knee, "And we are so much more, oh oui!"

"But they were sent there because they were going mad... they were causing so much trouble..." The President began to protest and attempted to shove the Frenchwoman off his knee, she clung to his neck like a limpet, ruffling his hair.

"Ah... I like a man with power, oh oui!" Marianne moaned.

"Well, you have 24 hours or the whole lot blows up in your face," Britannia told him, glaring at Marianne disapprovingly all the while.

"Blow... blow... blows up?" The President stuttered, he didn't like those words at all.

"Exactly, you've been warned, our people down there are on a timetable. About 24 hours from now Little Snoring will be no more... and if you continue to keep our children from their rightful positions..." Thor let the threat remain.

The President frowned. He managed to extricate himself from Marianne's grip and hurriedly stood up to try and exert some authority.

He failed.

Thor was several inches taller than him. Britannia, though small, had a very imposing and stern look on her face, Hellene was no better and looked him up and down as if he were an errant child.

He felt like a child. Alfred F. Jones was always a cheery, if over-talkative man whom the President had got along with quite well, but then again, after advice from previous Presidents, he'd indulged the man with his own fighter jet he could play with.

The other Nations, the President had not had much to do with, although protocol had meant he'd had to meet some of them. He still woke in a cold terrified sweat, clutching his bedsheets after his first meeting with Ivan Braginski. His first meeting with Arthur Kirkland had almost ended the UK-US 'special relationship'.

"No more? Big guy? Listen, the CIA have this all on lock-down, your friends won't be able to do anything..." The President said, trying to sound confident. He didn't feel confident.

Thor waved his axe at him, "We came to warn you, let them go... We can't be responsible for what happens..."

"You don't want to mess with us..." Britannia added.

What remained of the door was shoved aside as six CIA servicemen tumbled in, machine-guns at the ready.

"Oooh! More fresh meat!" Marianne said with utter delight.

"Drop your weapons!" the order came from the lead officer.

Thor shrugged and gripped his axe, no-one, in centuries, had ever taken it from him (apart from some little blond Danish girl in Copenhagen...).

But before Britannia could drop her scones, there came a strange sound.

In a report to their superiors, the CIA would attest to the following events as being 'like something out of an X Files episode'. Some of them argued that it sounded like some large but faulty engine, another that it sounded like a cow giving birth, another that it was like a hundred dishwashers on the final rinse, yet another said that they were reminded of their child's abysmal violin practice.

Whatever the description – it was ear-splittingly loud, everyone had to cover their ears as the room was filled with a blue flashing light as a large rectangular blue wooden box materialised in front of them.

"Good lad!" Britannia yelled. And to everyone's utter astonishment, opened a door and jumped in, pulling her fellow antagonists with her.

The CIA and the President of the United States watched, open-mouthed with astonishment as the blue box shimmered, the air around it seeming to collapse in on itself, the horrid grinding and groaning noise escalated and the thing vanished – taking the 'perpetrators' with it.

The President, after pulling himself together, assuring his security team that he was unharmed, picked up the phone.

"Yes, get me Section Z... tell them I've been visited by some entities who called the Nations 'kids' and that some people called Roma, Rodina and Germania are in..." The President stopped and listened, "You knew about this? You know who they are? Matthew is... oh, I see... but they said they would blow the place up...!" He listened again, "They can't?" he gave a sigh of relief. "So everything's a-okay? It's all covered? A minor lapse? Who? Romania? Who's he?" He listened again and then nodded. "Fine, just deal with it, because we can't let them loose.. I don't care what this mad Viking says..."

Finally, he put the phone down, watched his staff hurry away with the damaged desk, the CIA science investigation team hurried in and began scanning the room with Geiger-counters, attempting to work out how the mysterious blue box had materialised and then gone within a few seconds.

"Phew... another crisis averted," he told his secretary as she handed him a cup of coffee. "I wonder who the 'big guy' is?" he mused.

* * *

Little Snoring Police Station

"I didn't do nuffink!" Peter yelled at Officers Kirkland and Jones.

"It's ... _I did not do anything_, didn't your parents teach you proper English, young man?" Officer Kirkland told him, dipping his rich tea biscuit into his cup of Earl Grey.

Officer Jones leaned across the table, "Artie, I'll be bad cop, you be good cop, okay?"

Arthur sighed and rubbed his blond hair, "This isn't some drugs bust, Alfred... and besides we agreed on the questioning before we came in."

"Ha! What a pair of losers!" Peter said and leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

He was quite enjoying himself, arrested by these two goons for dealing in stolen credit cards and selling illegal Chinese fireworks. His reputation at school would go into the stratosphere.

Outside in the waiting room, Tino and Berwald sat chewing their fingernails.

"He'll have a police record," Tino said sadly, "He'll never go to University..."

Berwald had always doubted that their 'son' would ever go to any higher education establishment anyway, not unless they did a degree in housebreaking. He sighed and held Tino's hand in what he thought was a reassuring manner.

"Guys! Ber... Tino... You gotta hear this!" the speaker was Erik. The young Norwegian bartender from the Axe and the Dwarf skidded into the Police Station reception area.

"Erik? What's wrong? Are you alright? Has that Den person brought dancing girls into his pub again? If he has, we don't want to know, I told him it's a bad idea, a nice respectable little village like this..." Tino began to say.

"No... you, me, him..." Erik pointed at each of them, "I figured it out... I saw the news. We're Nations!" he said breathlessly.

"What on earth?"

"Eh?" Berwald grunted.

"We are Nations! I'm the personification of Norway, you Berwald are Sweden and Tino, you are Finland..." Erik told them, his arms flailing around, his face red. The realisation had hit him like a thunderbolt. How had he not known? His brain was still fuzzy from ... he wasn't sure, but centuries' worth of memories came flooding back - much of it involving trolls, long-ships and dragging a drunken Denmark out of a tavern.

At that moment, the 'interview room' door opened and Arthur, Alfred and Peter stepped out.

"Hahaha! Erik's gone mental!" Alfred yelled.

Arthur clunked him over the head.

Peter, who had heard everything, looked from his 'mum' to his 'dad' and to the Norwegian and then back again.

"Cup of tea, I think and we'll fill in this arrest form," Arthur said, "You, young man," he pointed at Erik, "Should go home and get some rest... you've been spending too much with France... I mean er... Francis... that French wanker... that ..." Arthur twitched, a vein pulsed on his right temple, "Shiver me timbers!" he blurted out.

Erik was about to say something, when suddenly six men in dark suits and sunglasses (who wears sunglasses at night, Alfred later thought, in a remarkable moment of lucidity) burst in, grabbed the young Norwegian and carried him out.

"Humph," Berwald said, standing up.

"Well... I wonder if those men are relatives of Erik? I mean..." Tino began to say.

"Bloody Yanks!" Arthur said, for no reason at all. He had no idea at all why he thought the men would be American.

"I'm Britain!" Peter yelled.

"You're a naughty boy!" Tino told him.

"No! I'm Britain!" Peter said, as he was taken to have his photograph taken for his police record.

"What? Like Captain Britain? Dude, you're a bit small for a superhero," Alfred told him.

"Britain... or England... I wonder... I mean... what on earth can the boy mean? England..." Arthur murmured to himself, suddenly standing stock-still, his right eye twitched and he found he had a sudden urge to sing a sea shanty.

Over at the Axe and the Dwarf, the television had been switched off and Natalia's hen-night was in full swing.

The bride-to-be herself was dressed in her customary blue and white dress, but adorned with tinsel, a balloon and an 'L' plate (the latter was probably unnecessary). Her bridesmaid, Katya, already looked harassed and deeply embarrassed.

The reason for this, was not that her sister wasn't beautiful or pretty – she was, it was because she had beaten all the assembled men at darts, pool and was now embroiled in a drinking game with the small Germanic receptionist who worked for the German doctor, the Danish landlord and the already drunken Spanish kindergarten teacher. And she was winning.

Katya sighed, despite her best efforts, her sister would never be a 'lady'. So she ordered a double vodka and sat herself down to smile at the quiet librarian in the corner.

Eduard Von Bock didn't go out much, he didn't know why he went into the public house that night. He sat quietly with his pint of lager-shandy and looked up to see the large but beautiful (in his eyes) games teacher smiling at him. He checked behind him to make sure she wasn't smiling at someone else and then tentatively smiled back.

"Get that karaoke on!" Feliks said, "I want to sing to my gorgeous Toris!"

Toris hid his head behind a newspaper. Feliks had been over-whelmed with happiness when he found Natalya and Ivan were to be married. For some reason the Polish beautician had been convinced that Ivan had a strange crush on his Lithuanian minion. Toris trembled at the very idea.

At the bar, Natalya had downed her eighth pint of beer, Gilbert had passed out in a pool of beer, Antonio was leaning against his friend and singing a Spanish lament, Matthias was behind the bar, trying to stay upright and serve customers, a large sombrero on his head.

Over at the flat above the florists shop, the unwitting groom-to-be was asleep and snoring on his battered sofa. The springs dug into his back, but that didn't matter as he wore a huge padded winter coat indoors anyway. Ivan clutched an empty vodka bottle in one hand and a piece of bathroom plumbing in the other and dreamed of sunflowers.

He'd not been happy when his beloved CBBC had stopped transmission and he'd slammed his copper pipe on top of the set several times until the BBC News channel had come on. He'd stared at the set in disbelief and horrid memories of soldiers, blood and snow nudged at him. Ivan dealt with this in the way he dealt with anything that upset or angered him - he destroyed it with his pipe. He'd then curled up in a foetal position, drank his vodka and passed out.

Little Raivis snuggled under his Disney duvet and tried to block out the smashing, the growling and finally, the sound of snoring which sounded rather like a freight train was coming through the building.

Over at the police station, Berwald jumped to his feet. Tino, surprised at the suddenness from the large Swede, stared in disbelief.

"S'm'one somewhere's singing ABBA..." Berwald grumbled, a grim look on his face and then added, somewhat oddly, "... Badly." With this last word, he left the building, slamming open the doors like a force of nature.

Matthew Williams, Mayor of Little Snoring, stopped his car outside the pub, patted his polar bear cub and got out. He knew what he had to do, it would be difficult but he could do it... he kept chanting this to himself as he locked his car door. He paused for a moment as a snowflake landed on his arm. He brushed it off, only for it to be replaced by another and then another. He looked up to the night sky to see, to his dismay, a sky full of snow.

To be continued...

**Author's Notes: I'm assuming you all know the 'blue box' is the TARDIS? Just a bit of crack in there, from a Dr Who fan – who else would rescue the Ancients?**

**The 'big guy' will be revealed later... let me know who you think the Ancients would send in?**

**Next Chapter: what happens when memories return, people waking up in the wrong bed, pirates of the Caribbean (or something), chaos in Little Snoring, and why the President of the United States should have listened to Thor.**

**Does any other writer have a sudden fear of publishing...? Or is it just me? lol. Feel free as always to review, PM, comment etc. Thank you for your patience.**


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